


all the orphans of forgetting

by strictlybecca



Category: As the World Turns
Genre: Hunger Games AU, M/M, Noah Shoots A Crossbow, it's a thing okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strictlybecca/pseuds/strictlybecca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Hunger Games AU: Noah Mayer has been chosen to fight for his life and his District in the 175th Annual Hunger Games. It's been his fate for as long as he can remember - but meeting Luciano Grimaldi has confused everything he knows to be true about the Games, about his father, and about himself. With Luke's father in control of the Games that are sure to test Noah's ability to survive, will the two ever find a way past what is expected and instead somehow find what they need?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. drink the smoke

-

and he will grow with pain and fear and jealousy  
taken in by schools of zealotry  
who train orphans to make orphans evermore  
i am the one who will remember everything

-

When Noah opens his eyes, it is to a familiar and painfully white sky. There are days in District 2 that Noah cannot tell whether it is the burn of the sun that makes each day so starkly bright or whether the blue he remembers from childhood was some sort of fantastical dream. He knows enough not to ask his father such a stupid question, idle curiosity or not.

But this sky is not familiar because of its color – it’s because he’s been here before. This dream is not new to him, though he supposes it is more memory than fiction at this point. His Reaping had been on the brightest day of the year, the weather perfect as it always was in the climate controlled Capitol. The skyscrapers that surrounded the Reaping platform gleam in the light of the sun and Noah has to shade his eyes in order to keep from flinching in the stark shine of the Capitol's buildings. The pristine towers loom over the thousands upon thousands of people who have gathered in the streets and the courtyards in front of the platform to watch what is always one of the most exciting events of the year.

The Reaping is a national holiday - no school, no work for every single citizen of every district. In his District, every child between the ages of twelve and eighteen must travel to the gleaming city hall building in order to sign in and be registered. They are settled onto rows of stark white chairs, each child in their Capitol finest, their parents crowded around the outskirts with the other bystanders, all waving flags and beaming brightly. Capitol fashion revolves around noxiously bright hair colors and clothing that is closer to architecture than anything wearable and as the crowds crush together, they become a blur of color and shine and Noah can no longer differentiate faces from one another. He’s almost glad that his Academy requires the same frozen gray uniforms as most Capitol government services.

For these families and children, there is nothing to worry about. The Reaping calls for two children to go to what may be their deaths, to fight in the Hunger Games for the pride of their District at the Capitol’s demand. But none of these children need fear their names being called – because Noah has been chosen.

At age twelve, Noah was entered into the Academy for training in hopes that one day his teachers would deem him worthy of entering the Games in honor of his District. All this at the bequest of Noah's father, Winston Mayer. Twelve year old Noah understood the Games as well as any child of the richer districts ever did - which, he knew, was not at all. At the Capitol's demand, every district must offer up two children, chosen at random on Reaping Day and with no choice in the matter - unless someone volunteers to take their place - but the rich Capitol districts had developed a method that was much more suited to the natures of their wealthy citizens. They would train children to volunteer themselves every year - and those children would call it an honor, a privilege. And none of their precious children would ever have to see bloodshed except from thousands of miles away, tucked safe between their parents as they watched the tributes murder one another on television - live and in color and in high definition.

As a student of the Academy, Noah was trained in every martial arts form, every survival technique, every kind of weapon that his trainers thought was necessary for survival in the Games. He ate, drank, studied and slept - when and how and however much his trainers demanded of him. And at age seventeen, Noah had been selected.

Instead of those soft, rich Capitol children out there, lined up in pretty rows, giggling excitedly - Noah would volunteer himself and enter the Games. For the honour of District 2, Noah would offer up his life and his childhood upon the altar of the Capitol.

And somehow, hopefully, survive it all.

-

When Noah starts awake from his too familiar dream, he barely makes a sound. He knows too well that disturbing his father too early is grounds for extra laps, especially for something as pathetic as a nightmare. Instead, Noah swallows the churning feeling in his stomach and slides silently out of bed, padding to the bathroom and starting his morning routine. The sun isn’t even up yet, but there’s no harm in beginning early.

He’s stopped by the sound of footsteps down the hall outside his door and before he can stop himself, he pokes his head out to catch of glimpse of whoever’s walking around at barely half past four in the morning. “Dusty?” he asks, brow furrowed at the sight of his mentor padding past his door. “Why are you up?”

Dusty’s gaze flickers over Noah and for a second, Noah feels too exposed in his pajamas with dark circles marring his face. “For the same reason you are, I expect,” Dusty mutters gruffly. “C’mon Mayer, no use wasting daylight.”

“It’s not even light out yet,” Noah protests for form’s sake, but he follows obediently, dogging Dusty’s steps until they reach the apartment’s kitchen and Dusty begins his usual six egg omelet for he and Noah to share.

After a lengthy silence, Noah feels the urge to speak bubble up in his chest and he fights it briefly before letting the impulse win out. “I had the dream again,” Noah mutters into the empty air, the only sounds those of the hissing and crackling of the eggs on the stove. Dusty doesn’t turn to look at Noah and for that Noah is eternally grateful. Dusty always sees far more than Noah means him to and as much as a mentor is meant to guide and advise their tributes, Noah could do without Dusty knowing every single one of his secrets.

“Same details?” Dusty just asks, as if they were talking about nothing more than the weather. Noah nods before he realizes that Dusty can’t see him.

“Yeah,” he says, letting the word out on a long sigh. “They call the little boy’s name, I step forward and volunteer, there’s cheering and then nothing but white.” There are more things that Noah remembers, more startling cold images that he cannot rinse from his mind, but he never mentions these aloud. Noah is not sure he could ever let them leave his head. Dusty is quiet as he splits the omelet evenly between two plates, adding forks and heading to the table where Noah is sitting.

“Is it a nightmare?” Dusty asks bluntly and Noah hunches his shoulders as he considers the question.

“Maybe,” Noah says after a long pause. “It’s mostly just a memory though.”

“The two ideas are not mutually exclusive, you know,” Dusty says with something approximating a smile. “Life can be pretty nightmarish.” Noah’s mouth twists up into a smirk, trying to quell the inappropriate urge to laugh; if there is a person in this world who understands hell on Earth, Dusty would be that person. Just like all the other mentors, Dusty had once been a tribute who had won his Games. Battered and bloody, Dusty had fought and killed his peers to make it out alive – just as Noah would have to in a matter of weeks. Nightmarish was the kindest word Noah could have thought of to describe what awaited him in the Games.

“You don’t say,” Noah murmurs dryly and there is silence before the two of them start cracking up, omelets abandoned as they snicker into their hands. They quiet a moment later and return to devouring their food. “My sense of humor wasn’t as gruesome before I met you,” Noah accuses mildly after a minute of scarfing down food like he’d never seen it before, pointing his fork at Dusty.

“It was,” Dusty counters, “You just didn’t know it yet. Finish up quick, let’s get to the training room before your dad-” The sound of footsteps down the hall sends Dusty into silence and both he and Noah watch the doorway, tensing lightly – but it is Ameera who steps through and not the Colonel. “Ah,” Dusty says lightly, trying to cover the silence, “Morning ‘Meera.”

“Good morning,” she replies as pleasantly as Ameera can ever be before her morning caffeine drip. Noah kindly does not ask her to summon any more human sounding words, instead letting her settle in at the table with them with a large mug of coffee. Ameera had been the same at the Academy – pleasant and polite to an almost absurd degree unless you made either of two fatal mistakes: underestimating her in combat or bothering her before she’d managed to wake up fully.

She and Noah had spent many a morning in absolute silence together; he unwilling to speak to anyone for longer than a few minutes and she unwilling to deal with human stupidity before it was absolutely necessary. It had worked out rather well and though Noah would not wish the Games on anyone, he was more than a little glad that Ameera had been chosen also. Their silent routine was somehow comforting in a bizarre way. And Noah would have wanted no one else at his side during the opening night parade into the center of the Capitol. The parade, their introduction to the Capitol and the sponsors and the viewers at home, had only been a day ago. Noah shudders at the memory of being on display for a cheering, snarling crowd, decked out in Mason’s ostentatious costumes. District 2 spared no expense for the blatant prostitution of their champions - Noah sweated through the night in gold plated body armor, feathered to look like scales of a dragon. He felt pinched and sore at every muscle’s bend and knew Ameera felt no better - though she certainly hid it with far more poise. The enormous crowd of hundreds of thousands of Capitol citizens had roared their approval at he and Ameera’s debut and they’d returned to their apartment that night to a pleased Colonel and aching arms from waving.

Several minutes pass with Dusty murmuring at Noah to hurry up and Noah devouring as much of the enormous omelet as physically possible. When he returns to the table from dumping his plate in the sink, Ameera is watching him with amusement.

“Getting a jump on the competition Noah?” she asks, voice quiet and serene in a way that has always made Noah envious of her calm. “It’s a bit early for you.”

“You know me ‘Meera,” Noah murmurs, “Always prepared.” Ameera huffs a laugh before raising her mug in a mock tribute to him.

“Fair enough,” she allows, though her eyes are too knowing. “Anyway, while you laze about, I’m off to the training ground. I’ll see you there?” Noah nods his agreement and watches as she silently weaves her way through the kitchen, dropping off her mug in the sink before heading out the front door.

“Sooner rather than later Mayer,” Dusty reminds him and Noah forces himself out of his chair, intending to head back to his room and don his training gear – but more footsteps are heard and this time there is only one other person it can be.

Colonel Winston Mayer steps through the door, perfectly pressed despite the still early hour. Noah straightens automatically and tries not to look guilty – for what, he doesn’t know, but he’s sure that his father could find something.

“You’re up early Noah.” Winston eyes him. “Sit with me while I have breakfast.” Noah nods jerkily and settles back into his seat, folding his hands atop the table. Dusty sighs heavily and goes to fetch two cups of coffee, settling one in front of Noah’s hands a moment later.

 _I told you to hurry up,_ he mouths when Winston turns away from the table and all Noah can do is shrug and wait for his father to return and settle in next to him with something Noah would be hesitant to identify as actual food.

“How’s training been going?” Winston asks, tone more curious than sharp and Noah relaxes somewhat.

“Pretty well,” he admits. “We’ve only had a day but I’ve been watching the others and I think I’m in a good place comparatively.”

“I should hope so,” Winston huffs, but nods appreciatively. “Good instincts, we need to make sure we keep an eye on District 1 – and those twins from District 5. The girl volunteering after her brother was chosen?” Winston scowled. “I don’t like it. They’ll be a hard variable to predict for.”

“Do you think District 5’s training Careers now?” Noah asked, having spotted the two dark haired siblings earlier the day before. There was something entirely unsettling about the both of them. They moved with almost perfect synchronization, they even finished each others’ sentences. But nonetheless, Noah could respect the dedication of one sibling entering the Games in order to increase the chance of the other surviving. He was sure the Colonel didn’t see it that way.

“I wouldn’t put it past them, but there’s no way their program could have been as rigorous as yours,” Winston says with some authority. “District 5 has never been known for their tributes. That won’t change this year.” Noah nods, feeling slightly more assured. Winston eyes Noah. “You’re training hard as well as observing, I hope?”

“Yes sir,” Noah replies immediately, casting a look at Dusty, who’s nodding.

“Noah’s exactly where he needs to be,” Dusty says simply, ignoring Winston’s scowl.

“Good,” Winston says finally, when it’s clear he’s getting no more from Dusty on Noah’s progress. “The sponsors need to know that Noah is a safe bet,” Winston says, as though Noah and Dusty both don’t already know this fact. The sponsors who will pay money to keep Noah alive even when things go wrong are key to Noah winning these Games. Their money will provide supplies and medicine for Noah and without them, there is little chance Noah will survive everything the Games will throw at him. “Keep me updated,” Winston adds. Dusty nods, even though they both know he won’t. “There are only so many days left.” For a moment, Winston looks anxious. “He needs to be ready.”

Dusty’s gaze softens slightly and he nods. “He will be.” Winston nods after a long moment of silence.

“Good,” he says abruptly. “No weaknesses Noah,” he snaps out before standing from the table and disappearing back into the apartment.

“No weaknesses,” Noah echoes automatically, unmoving – until Dusty prods him hard in the side.

“Get a move on Mayer, training awaits.”

-

Noah is faster and stronger and more experienced than nearly all of the tributes. He knows this the way he knows his own name, the way he can tell the difference between poisonous nightlock and harmless bitterblue, the way he knows the velocity and angle necessary to snap a fourteen year old’s neck in a swift and painless kill.

Noah’s distaste for pain and long drawn out kills had been both a point in his favor and a point against during the consideration for this year’s District 2 tributes. The Capitol didn’t like having sociopaths as winners – apparently they were hard to root for. But Noah was unwilling to put on a show for the cameras (which, for the Capitol, was the entire point) - unlike Kevin, the male tribute from District 1, who specialized in the torturous sort of attacks that Noah despised. Dusty and Winston and Noah had had many a harried whispered conversation about the broad shouldered boy who could turn the charm on and off at the drop of a hat. Even if he hadn’t seen Kevin take down someone twice his size with little more than his bare hands, Noah would be wary of him. Little good came of someone who managed to be so completely two faced with so little effort.

“Mayer,” Kevin jerks his head in something resembling a greeting when they end up next to one another in line, waiting to tackle the obstacle course another time.

“Davis,” Noah replies tersely, eyes focused on the first obstacle wall. He tries not to think about Kevin’s bruised and bloody knuckles from when Noah watched him systematically pound a trainer’s face in earlier that morning. Kevin had to be pulled off the other man before he would stop and even then he just laughed.

No one laughed with him.

“Pathetic, isn’t it,” Kevin says, not even attempting to lower his voice as he scans the training room. Noah watches as several of the other tributes tense or straighten, studiously pretending not to listen in while still making it all too clear that they’re eavesdropping.

Noah grunts in reply, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Kevin takes this as permission to continue talking and Noah doesn’t disabuse him of the notion.

“No weapons experience among them, hardly half of them know which end is the pointy end, none of them can lift more than their weight.” Kevin laughs. “Guess it’s going to come down to the two of us, Mayer.”

Noah certainly doesn’t agree with Kevin’s estimation of the field – he’s seen more than a few of the other tributes pull out some impressive moves over the past day or so – but he’s afraid that Kevin’s right about the end. Districts 1 and 2 have spent inordinate amounts of time and money training both he and Kevin, making them perfect killing machines, readying them to survive in any and all terrains and settings.

“More likely it’ll be Ameera and I,” calls Alison from across the training mat. Alison is also District 1 and Noah knows her by name and reputation only. She’s been careful not to reveal too many of her talents to the others during training, only excelling beyond the norm at the first aid training station set up across the hall. But Noah knows not to underestimate her – not if he wants to live. “You were always too slow for me Kev,” she taunts, smile wide under the guise of friendly teasing, but Noah can see the amount of distaste she has for her fellow tribute. It’s almost a relief to see – anyone who could manage to be friends with a sociopath like Kevin was definitely someone to rule out in Noah’s book.

“You wish Alison,” Kevin grits out, but then it’s his and Noah’s turn on the obstacle course and neither of them have the breath to speak as they pelt across the field, over coarse walls and through a tangled ropes maze. Noah can feel his muscles burn in that all too familiar way as he pushes himself through the course as fast as possible; his long legs and arms help him build speed and he’s soon out distancing Kevin with ease. He forgets about the other boy as he crawls through a low obstacle and then heads for the next rope climb – but suddenly, stars burst across his vision and pain blooms at the side of his head.

Without thinking, Noah lashes out, utilizing his long reach to slam a fist into his attacker’s face, bringing them down with brutal, violent precision. _Kevin,_ his brain intones from some distant place, but Noah doesn’t care. _Enemy,_ his brain insists and Noah must fight the urge to follow Kevin to the ground and eliminate him as a threat. _Training,_ says his brain finally and so Noah sprints away, his brain refocusing on the obstacle course. He finishes in record time and it is only when the trainer assures him he’s broken his last time on the course even with the interruption that Noah looks back and stares at Kevin.

Bloody faced and possibly with a broken nose, Kevin is staring at him from across the room. Trainers dab at his face with towels and a medic is trying to reset his nose even as Kevin brushes their hands away indifferently. Noah knows without a doubt that he’s made himself an enemy for life. However long that may be.

“He deserves it for attacking from behind,” mutters a boy about Noah’s age. Noah identifies him immediately as the male tribute from District 12 who utterly destroyed several training dummies yesterday while wielding throwing axes.

“Didn’t expect him to attack from the front,” Noah retorts and the boy snorts.

“No, I guess not. Casey Hughes,” the boy introduces himself and Noah shakes his hand with some uncertainty.

“Noah Mayer,” he replies slowly. Casey flashes him a look that says _no, really?_ which Noah supposes is fair. Careers are always far more well known than any of the other tributes. Casey would have been warned from day one to watch out for Noah and Kevin and the others.

“Making friends Case?” comes a sweet voice from beside them and both boys turn to glance down at a younger girl, petite and soft looking.

“You know me Lib,” Casey says, face suddenly plastered with a wide smile. “I’m just too popular.” The girl snorts and returns to her survival skills station, fumbling the flint enough times for Noah to know that she’ll be one of the first to go. A quick glance at Casey tells Noah that the other boy knows that fact just as well. “Liberty's a good girl,” Casey says lowly. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Can’t think of anyone who does,” Noah replies honestly and Casey glances over at him.

“Yeah, I guess.” He snorts. “Except maybe Kevin.” That drags a half-hearted smile from Noah and he shrugs a shoulder.

“Yeah, except maybe Kevin.”

When training ends hours later, the tributes trudge out of the hall in their pairs, unwilling to trust in whatever half-hearted overtures they’d made while surrounded by their fellow tributes. Too early in the game to establish alliances, Noah thinks. That doesn’t stop the twins from District 5 from giving Noah flirty glances – _both_ of them, he thinks, a little stunned – nor Liberty from chattering on to the girl from District 8 who seems to be about her age and much less inclined to talk.

Their quiet conversations pause as they reach the next intersection of corridors; across the way stands Damian Grimaldi, this year’s Gamemaker. His job as architect for the Games – setting, obstacles, animals, everything – make him the most important man in all of the Capitol right about now and Noah can barely tear his gaze away.

At least not until Grimaldi shifts and reveals the man he’s standing beside – his son, Luciano Grimaldi. Same blonde hair and flashy Capitol fashion, he looks like a mini-clone of his father. Noah dismisses him with ease just as the two dismiss them, heading towards some important meeting or another.

His concerns are far more important than the Gamemaker and his son – it’s lunch time.

-

“The field looks decent this year,” Damian intones as the screens before them flash with the basic profiles of all the tributes. It is all Luke can do to keep his head propped up as Damian and the other officials murmur lowly about this girl’s chances or this boy’s stats. This is the fourteenth meeting of its kind that Luke has been forced to sit in on. Damian mistakenly thinks that the Games are now some sort of family business and that Luke will want to follow in his footsteps one day. Luke can’t think of anything less he wants to do than construct the Games that have become Damian’s pride and joy and focus all year round.

“Good, strong, excellent, good, decent-” Damian says as each face flickers by, all young, all stoic in the face of their overwhelming terror.

“That one’s a dud,” calls one of the particularly boring officials from across the table as a round faced girl from District 8 appears on the screen – sixteen, average height and broad in the shoulders and hips. Her face is set, even as Luke reads her stats and sees what the man was talking about. He takes in her face, memorizes her name – _Faith._

Faith, with little to offer. Poor, single parent family – no initial connections to tie sponsors to her. Not stunningly pretty, no extraordinary physical ability to speak of, very little to recommend her to the audiences at home, except-

“She volunteered,” Luke reminds the group, ignoring the sharp look he gets from Damian for speaking out of turn. “The audiences will love her story. Inevitably something tragic and inspiring.” The report says she volunteered to keep her sister from entering the Games, but Luke doesn’t want to offer up that fact for the others to tear apart for the sake of a joke.

“Which will make her death good for ratings,” calls another voice and the table chuckles quietly.

Luke wishes he were anywhere but here.

“Enough,” Damian snaps and silence falls. “Update on the sound stage’s construction progress?”

“It’ll be ready for tribute interviews in two days,” comes the quick reply. “Henry is already beginning to be briefed on the tributes, we’re collecting spare footage now for their intros and outros, everything’s on schedule.”

“And the Game arena?” Damian asks a moment later after considering the touch pad in front of him. Luke blinks, unmoving. The location of the Games is the most closely guarded secret of the entire operation every year. Never before had Luke been privy to the information before the unveiling for every other citizen of the Capitol. Hesitant glances are cast Luke’s way before Damian snaps his fingers – “I asked about the setting! Is anyone here still interested in working here in the next two minutes? I need an answer.”

“The rainforest is g-good,” stutters out one of the younger officials. Luke has already written him off as too eager and too boring to be at all entertaining – and by the way the man hops to do Damian’s bidding, Luke was entirely correct. “We’ve got all the foliage growing in, the time table for the poisonous ones has been sped up slightly to make sure they’re all potent by the time the tributes are dropped in.”

“The werejaguars have been introduced to the habitat,” adds another voice, clearly unwilling to let the first man take all the credit. “They’re adapting well, we’ve only lost five of the original sixty we helihovered in.”

“Good,” Damian murmurs. “Pull me up the schematic.” The screens before them flicker and settle together until one large map is spread across nearly ten screens. “Give me topographic markers.” The layout of the land is shown with lines and graphs that Luke has no hope of understanding - but he certainly recognizes the parts of the map that are the edges of District 1 and 2, establishing just where this year’s arena is settled. “Heat signatures.” Color bursts across the screen and Luke gasps as one of the mountains lights up bright, bright white. “How’s the volcano?”

“Ready and waiting for your word, sir.”

“Excellent,” Damian murmurs again. “All right gentlemen, we look to be on schedule for this morning. You’re dismissed.” None of the men hesitate; the room clears in under thirty seconds and Luke takes a moment to be mildly impressed. It doesn’t last long as Damian turns his focus onto his son.

“I gather you know enough not to speak of anything you just saw.” Luke makes a face.

“I’m not a complete idiot,” he huffs.

“No, just irresponsible, flighty and too stubborn for your own good,” Damian replies, not entirely unkindly. “Top secret Luciano, I mean it. That means none of your bits on the side get a single ‘sneak preview’ of any sort.”

“I know Dad,” Luke says impatiently. “I wouldn’t tell anyone, you know I wouldn’t.”

“The decisions you make are not always the wisest ones,” Damian says, tone mild but dangerous as he slides a familiar looking tabloid across the table to Luke. Luke groans as he sees the front page. It’s a picture of Luke – poorly lit and out of focus, but still very clearly Luke’s blond head – outside a familiar bar, head bent close to a red haired boy beside him. They’re both clearly smiling and laughing and Luke wants to roll his eyes. The headline reads: “HAS THE GOLDEN PRINCE FOUND HIS COPPER KNIGHT?”

“Oh god, who comes up with this garbage?” Luke asks incredulously. “Copper knight? I want to vomit.”

“You?” Damian asks, his voice still too serene to be entirely trustworthy. “You want to vomit?” Damian’s eyes narrow. “Imagine my face when I was greeted with such a headline this morning – insinuations about your sexuality and your preferences, libelous, disgusting assumptions!” Damian’s voice builds in volume until he is thundering across the table at Luke, who must resist to urge to ask if libel still counts even when you are utterly and completely what they are accusing you of.

Damian lets out a long breath and Luke does as well, staring at his hands folded neatly atop the conference table. “I know this is innocent,” Damian says, as if saying it will make it true – which it is, Luke wants to tell him, he wasn’t actually doing anything with the aforementioned ‘copper knight’ because he had been more than a little bit of an asshole – “But you must understand how it looks Luciano. You must, during the Games, be extra careful not be seen as… divergent.” Damian picks his words carefully as he always does and part of Luke just wishes he’d come out and tell him to stop being a faggot.

But Damian would never and so Luke must sit and listen to his father equivocate while asking him to stop being so gay where everyone can see.

“Different is weakness,” Damian says finally. “The Grimaldis cannot be seen as weak. Not now. Not with the Games so close.” Luke nods simply. “Good. I knew I could count on you. I love you Luciano.” Luke murmurs something approximating a similar sentiment and takes the dismissal as it was intended; he slips out of his chair and down the hall. He has to avoid several bored paparrazi photographers who have clearly been lying in wait for either him or his father, but other than that small bit of excitement, Luke escapes to the cafeteria with little more on his mind than finding something to eat.

-

When an unfamiliar head settles in beside him at the cafeteria table, Noah barely glances up from his perfectly portioned dry chicken and salad - a meal made at Dusty's demand and Noah doesn’t have it in him to argue about something as inconsequential as his food. But Noah's eyes flicker to the side for a moment to swiftly identify whom it was who decided to brave settling in next to the District 2 Career tribute. The blonde hair is familiar enough - but only from the other side of a magazine cover.

Luciano Grimaldi was the Gamemaker's son - his only son, his pride and joy according to every gossip mag desperate enough to write about the Gamemaker and his family (which was all of them) - and he was the Capitol's perfect golden prince. He was seen at all the very best clubs and every nightspot in town wanted Grimaldi to be seen leaving their premises in various states of intoxication and with a variety well known Capitol society girls on his arm. Luciano could be seen at nearly every important society event during the year, smiling firmly beside his father, who oozed charm as easily as his son. The apple didn't fall far from the tree as far as Noah could tell and he wasn't particularly thrilled to be joined by the famous boy at this very moment. As distracting as his bright brown eyes were from a glossy magazine page (and Noah could admit that to himself even if he couldn't to a single other soul), distractions were precisely what Noah did not need.

"Mind if I join you?"

“If you want,” Noah returns shortly, not wanting to give the other boy any ideas. Noah wasn’t here to socialize or throw some stunt to get noticed. Noah was here to figure out how to survive and then do it.

Grimaldi settles in across from him, his own tray filled with the things Dusty has specifically told Noah he’s not allowed to eat. Grimaldi follows his eyes and raises a wry eyebrow. “Want some?” he offers a plate of chocolate pudding.

“Can’t,” Noah bites out, not entirely willing to engage in conversation with someone he has little to nothing in common with. “Diet.”

“Ah,” Grimaldi nods knowingly and goes back to eating. Noah does as well, though his every nerve is on edge – what does he want? Why did he ask to sit with Noah? Why was he here? “Saw you and Kevin go at it earlier,” Grimaldi says, offhand.

Noah grunts in response.

Grimaldi pushes on. “I never liked him much,” he says in an indifferent tone. “Kevin, I mean. We had to hang out together a lot, him as the chosen District One tribute and me, well,” Grimaldi flushes awkwardly, “I guess you know. Anyway,” Grimaldi goes back to picking at his food. “We always had to spend time together at random parties and interviews and things and he’s just such a horrible person.”

Noah agrees wholeheartedly but he’s still completely unsure of why Grimaldi is sharing this information with _him_. Noah is immediately suspicious – is Grimaldi trying to manipulate Noah into revealing something? Or agreeing? Is Noah on tape? Will this conversation come back to bite him in the ass?

“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” Noah replies bluntly, his eyes narrowed. “What game are you trying to pull?” Grimaldi freezes and Noah is vindicated – he had obviously been planning something.

“What?” Grimaldi sounds utterly confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You come to my table,” Noah snaps, slamming a finger down on the dark wood of the cafeteria table that he had claimed as his own from the very first day, “You sit down and you start gossiping about a tribute who I don’t give a flying fuck about. What game are you trying to play? Am I supposed to give you information in return? I don’t think so,” he huffs, going back to staring at his food.

“You absolute psychopath,” Grimaldi snaps, “It’s called being a polite human being. I don’t actually care a damn how you feel about Kevin Davis, but you were alone and I figured I’d be nice and come talk to you! You’re the pathetic one here with no one to talk to!”

“I don’t need pity and I certainly don’t need anything from you!” Noah flings back, embarrassment warring with anger at being pitied. “Get your own damn table next time,” he adds, standing and hauling his tray away, not looking back as he strides first towards the trash and then out of the cafeteria all together.

-

  
_Psst! You’ll never guess! **Hunger Magazine** was on the scene when a shocking new development in the love life of Luciano Grimaldi was discovered! It seems this golden boy has struck up a new relationship with one of – you guessed it – those cute new tributes now living in Capitol Tower! Noah Mayer of District 2 was seen eating with the Gamemaker’s son, something that an insider reports is not a rare occurrence! What came next was certainly out of the ordinary – the two broke into a frenzied argument, unfortunately too quiet for those around them to hear – but the truth is obvious: a lover’s quarrel seems to be in the cards for these two! Will their romance ever truly blossom in such harsh conditions as these? And what will happen when Noah has to go off to the Games? Will Luke pine for his lost love?_   


  
_All this and more is in store for you with **Hunger Magazine!**_   


-

“So what are your intentions towards the Gamemaker’s son?” Dusty’s amused tone is at odds with his words and the only response Noah can summon is a groan, covering his face with his hands. Slumping over, Noah wishes he were somewhere far away where this conversation was not happening.

“Not you too,” Noah moans, “That article didn’t have a single true thing in it. There is no way Grimaldi and I could manage a civil conversation, never mind an ongoing secret relationship.” Dusty merely raises an eyebrow in Noah’s direction, wiggling the rag of a magazine between two fingers.

“You sure about that?” Dusty asks, flipping back through the magazine with a casual air that makes Noah want to throw something at his head. “Because it sounds like it’s been hot and heavy between you two for awhile.”

Noah makes a sound closer to a growl than anything else and ignores the sound of his mentor breaking into stifled laughter.

“You need to be careful with this though,” Dusty mutters a moment later. “This could be a good act for you – pretending to have a crush on the Capitol’s golden boy. It could give you an edge with sponsors that you don’t have right now.”

Noah scowls fiercely. “No,” he refuses. “No, I don’t want to play that card.” His eyes dart to the far room where he knows his father is shouting into his phone, making calls and pressuring sponsors. “And Dad would never allow it.”

Dusty waves his hand as if brushing away those concerns. “Your father’s not going into the Games, he’s not the one with his life on the line. If something like this will help keep you alive, then it’s your decision, not his.” The fire in Dusty’s eyes reminds Noah that there is one other person he knows who understands precisely what he’s thinking. The Games that made Dusty a champion had been some of the most gruesome and violent that anyone had ever seen and very few who were alive to watch them would ever forget the final image of Dusty standing, staring directly into the cameras, soaked in blood, his only weapon a battered tree branch that he’d used as a club.

Dusty very rarely speaks about his time in the Games and Noah has absolutely no desire to ask.

“Okay,” Noah agrees, “But I don’t want to do it. Never mind that no one would believe for a second that he and I could ever get along.”

“Well then,” Dusty says, the fierce look in his eyes fading, his familiar smirk resettling on his lips, “Then let’s just work on not angering the Gamemaker’s son, all right?”

Noah huffs a sigh and dodges the nudge to the back of the head that Dusty aims at him, laughing a little.

“Now get your ass back over to the training arena. Your knots need a hell of a lot of work.”

-

It’s late when Noah finally forces himself back to his room – the last people Noah wants to see are Dusty and Ameera – both of whom have gotten his ire up in the last few days. Right now he can do without Dusty’s sardonic remarks and Ameera’s pleas for Noah’s involvement in her latest scheme. A planner til the end, Noah usually admires Ameera’s meticulous attention to detail and her dedication and tenacity – but somehow she has gotten it into her brain that a fauxmance between she and Noah is her only chance of survival. Noah disagrees – Ameera is precisely the kind of beautiful the Capitol finds so fascinating – her simple elegance is so far from the artificial and illusory synthetic beauty so commonly manufactured by the wealthy.

The Colonel is no different – it is clear he wants Noah to take part in Ameera’s scheme, if only to do away with the dogged rumors of Noah and Luke together. Noah had had to deal with a fairly vicious interrogation the first night after the article appeared in Hunger Magazine, and Noah’s responsibility to his family had been outlined in great detail. Noah had understood what his father meant – there was no way Winston was going to have a faggot for a son and it was Noah’s responsibility to eliminate any chance of the rumor being true. Tired of everyone around him, Noah stalks the corridors silently, one of the few tower denizens still awake and not attending some party or gala.

A soft noise from the down the corridor catches Noah’s attention, though it takes him several more seconds to recognize the distinctive silhouette lit by the hallway windows on either side.

Luciano Grimaldi is slumped against a pillar in the middle of the hallway, head angled to stare unseeingly down at the Capitol skyline, stark and bright against the deep dark of the night sky. Noah has no idea what to do or say – it is beyond clear that Grimaldi is drunk and lost to his thoughts. Noah could sneak by with ease and Grimaldi would be none the wiser – but something keeps Noah there.

There’s no denying how attractive Luciano is. Noah’s known that since Grimaldi had started appearing in magazines at the all too tender age of fifteen – too young for the neon lights of the clubs that were all too eager to have him visit. Too young for all the attention and the interviews and the paparazzi – but the Capitol didn’t seem to care how quickly they were aging their golden prince.

Considering they routinely sent twelve year olds to their deaths in the most brutal manner possible, Noah supposes he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Grimaldi?” Noah murmurs, almost unwilling to break the soft silence that’s fallen. “Grimaldi, do you need some help?”

Luciano starts, whirling quickly. “M-Mayer? What? No, no, I’m fine.” He smiles sort of hazily, but it’s not a kind expression. “Wouldn’t want to add fuel to the fire of the rumors of our sordid affair.” He slurs his words almost beautifully and Noah can tell that this is not the golden prince’s first moment of disarray. He is almost too striking in this moment, eyelids low, mouth red and bruised, cheekbones defined sharply by the light of the glittering Capitol around them. “But if you need to pretend,” Luciano murmurs a moment later, “that’s fine.”

Noah blinks, uncertain. “Need to pretend… to have an affair with you?”

Grimaldi's dreamy smile sharpens for an instant before falling back into a fuzzy, drunken expression. “Not for real of course. But I know it might help you with sponsors and,” Luke shrugs, indifferent, “Who am I to take away an advantage like that? Damian won’t be happy, but…” he trails off, shrugging again.

“You’d let me pretend to be in a relationship with you,” Noah starts slowly, “To better my chances in the Games?”

Luciano ducks his head so that Noah can no longer read his face, shadowed as it is. “You wouldn’t be the first,” he says, voice dry and amused. “And for much less important reasons than their lives being at stake. Perils of being the Gamemaker’s son, I suppose.”

It occurs to Noah that there is rather a lot he doesn’t know about the Gamemaker’s son – about _Luciano._ Luciano, who is rapidly becoming far more than Damian Grimaldi’s son.

“I won’t,” Noah says firmly. “I wouldn’t.” He shrugs a shoulder. “It’s none of their business how I feel or what I want. And I wouldn’t want to use you like that.”

Luciano's lips quirk up into an unreadable smile, eyes curious. “How honorable Mayer, I didn’t realize.” His hand drifts up to tap gently against his lips, as if considering. “I sold you short Mr. Mayer, I apologize. Call me Luke.” He offers the hand to Noah, who takes it firmly – before freezing. There’s no explaining the jolt that this mere touch from Luke inspires – like his whole body feels the spark of the simple brush of fingertips. Luke is similarly stupefied, eyes wide and startled.

“I-I’m sorry as well,” Noah says, his voice not quite as steady as he’d like it to be. “I think it’s pretty clear we don’t know each other very well.” It’s a long moment before he realizes he hasn’t let go of Luke’s hand and he releases it quickly, red staining his cheeks.

Luke smiles again, but there is something softer about this expression, more so than all the others Noah has seen. “Agreed,” he murmurs in return. “Maybe it’s something we can fix in the future.” And with that, he waves a hand and disappears down the corridor, too quickly for Noah to even rally his brain to come up with a reply – not that he’s sure he could have fumbled out anything resembling actual words.

-

Noah had thought that would be the last of his interactions with Luke Grimaldi, but his training schedule seems to allow for a significant amount of bumping into one another in the cafeteria and within the varied and winding halls of the training complex.

They greet each other casually, usually with little more than a nod or a half wave, neither sure of the protocol for someone who is certainly not a friend nor ally but cannot be explained away as an enemy.

 _No weaknesses,_ reminds the voice in Noah’s head that sounds identical to his father’s. He doesn’t know why seeing Luke always meddles with his brain, but he comes away from their brief encounters with stomachaches and a thudding pulse, constantly confused and somehow inordinately pleased.

Luke is far more than he appears on the surface. Noah sees him at every official gala or meeting – he is always moving through the corridors with an assistant, dictating notes or reading files. He is charming and suave with every woman he meets and utterly professional with every man. Every child that gets put into his arms or pressed up beside him gets his absolute focus. Interviewers accost him at every opportunity and he is rarely without simple, intelligent answers to their questions.

Noah doesn’t know what it is, but he cannot tear his eyes away.

“Luke’s not as much of a dick as I thought he would be,” Parker says bluntly as he settles in at Noah’s lunch table. Noah’s space has been invaded more and more often the longer they are here and the more familiar the tributes become with one another. He has absolutely no interest in making friends, but he has to admit that not sitting alone at lunch is far more enjoyable than the alternative.

Noah isn’t particularly fond of Parker, but he knows that he would be a decent ally in the Games at least. From District 4, Parker has been swimming since probably before birth and his handle on both navigation and terrain far outstrips most of the other tributes’. He and Maddie, the other tribute from District 4, have smashed all previous records in the training pool and Noah knows they are two to keep an eye on.

Fortunately, they have both taken to eating with Noah more often than not, so it is rather an easy task. “Hi Noah,” Maddie says with a bright smile before settling in beside Parker. “What are we talking about?” Maddie is far more interesting to talk to than Parker, but Noah has watched her handle knives while on the training grounds and her swift, silent kills make it almost impossible for him to watch her eat anymore. Instead, he focuses mostly on his own food when she’s around.

“Grimaldi,” Noah answers when Parker appears to have stuffed a whole orange in his mouth in lieu of answering. “The younger.”

“Oh!” Maddie blinks. “I like him! A bit of a brat, but firsties always are.” The nickname for District 1 citizens makes Noah smirk, but he’s already uncomfortable enough with Luke as a topic that it fades quickly. “He seems nice though,” she adds and Noah has no choice but to reply.

“I guess so,” he says slowly, casting around in his mind for another topic – fortunately they’re interrupted by an arrival en masse of others. Jade, a tribute from District 11, the twins Zac and Zoe from District 5 and Ameera, all join them, allowing Noah to fade back into relative silence.

The topic shifts rapidly from the relative quirks of their mentors (it is rapidly agreed that the most bizarre and best to be avoided mentor is District 1’s, Reid, whose bark is at least equivalent to his bite, if not more so) to the complete lack of interesting food thanks to the diets their mentors have them on. Noah is just about to clean up his tray and head out when the relative quiet of the cafeteria is disturbed by the entrance of nearly ten people, all chattering, some carrying cameras, others with microphones, followed by – Noah freezes – _Luke._

It seems as if a group of Game officials are being interviewed and Luke is along for the ride, because his contributions are mostly nods and short answers. He is distracted enough that his gaze wanders around the room and before long it lands on Noah.

For a second, Noah’s brain shuts off and all he can do is look back – but then Luke offers him a tentative smile and Noah jerks his head awkwardly in response. Luke’s smile turns wry, as if amused at Noah’s complete inability to interact normally with other humans, before turning back to the interview.

Noah doesn’t move for a second, but when he finally gathers himself and moves to leave the table he realizes that the others are staring at him. “What?” he asks defensively, snatching his tray off the table.

“What was _that?_ ” Ameera asked, perfectly manicured eyebrows raised.

“Nothing,” Noah responds resolutely, ignoring the skeptical looks of the others. “Absolutely nothing.”


	2. ride the noise

Noah can’t breathe. The suit Mason has forced him into (with more hands-on assistance than Noah felt was really necessary, thanks very much) feels like it is suffocating him, one hand stitched button at a time. Thank god Mason and Dusty both backed Noah up when he vetoed the tie his father suggested – “He needs to appear young and confident, not too old,” Dusty protested firmly. “What, hide this neck?” Mason had added, oblivious to the distasteful look from Winston – Noah was pretty sure the stylist’s opinion had not been the deciding factor for his father.

Noah knew precisely what he was supposed to do while up on that stage. This interview would be in front of an enormous audience and simultaneously broadcasted to all of Panem - this would be his chance to convince the people at home that he was the tribute for whom to root. He and his father had rehearsed it nearly a million times. Noah was supposed to project aggression and confidence, to appear strong and merciless. Anything less and he would appear weak, a target for the other tributes to hunt down.

_“Tributes from the Capitol districts like ours must maintain our image,” Winston had barked at him repeatedly. “Appear weak and you become weak. Appear nervous and you’ll never survive. And we are a family of survivors, son. Nothing less.”_

Noah stands just off stage waiting for Alison’s interview to end. Kevin had been the first, the producers alternating female and male tributes and presenting them in order of district. Never before has Noah been so thankful of his status as a District 2 tribute – he’s sure that if he had needed to wait, he would have died of nerves.

Noah knows how to present himself, how to sit, how to stand, how hard to shake Henry’s hand – because it has all been drilled into him. But he’s never had to stand before a crowd and tell lies like this.

Lies about how sure he is that he's going to win, how positive he is that the others have no chance of surviving compared to him. Lies about how much he wants this, how honored he is to be here, how much this means to him. His father wants him to be a shining example of Capitol pride and Noah is struggling to remember how it felt to want that - wondering if he ever actually wanted it.

Noah recalls with intense clarity the sessions he had with his father, how every word needed to be enunciated, every thought crisp and clear and sharp. "Tell them how you are going to win this," Winston would snap. "Explain in excruciating detail how little of an issue the other tributes are to you. Show no weakness."

And yet all Noah feels are weaknesses.

For one wild moment, Noah wonders if Luke feels weak sometimes too.

The thought blows away in the next instant when he hears the roar of applause and sees Alison duck off stage out of the corner of his eye. There is almost no delay between that moment and the next, and Noah can hear Henry's voice booming out across the crowd, "And next we have the incredibly handsome and extremely talented Noah Mayer from District Two!"

Noah freezes.

"Noah!" Winston snaps, but Noah can't make his feet move.

"Don't forget to smile," Dusty murmurs in his ear and for some ridiculous reason that sends his body forward with little permission from his brain. A second later, and Noah's trying to keep from shielding his eyes against the bright flares of the stage lights knowing how that will play on television - like he has no idea what he's doing, like he's an amateur and inexperienced. Instead, he forces himself to walk slowly across the stage to the two deep red seats right in the middle, one filled by Henry, the effervescent and bubbling host of the Games for the past five years. The ratings for his yearly interview show are always the highest of any show on any channel ever - which means millions of people are watching Noah right now.

Millions of people are clawing to see his weaknesses.

"Look at you! Look at him! How handsome is this young man, hm?" With a wave of his hand, Henry calls up an image of Noah from training on the forty-foot projector screen settled behind them on stage. Noah blanches mildly, struggling not to react too overtly - but hell, he's never seen himself like this. _And millions of people are watching,_ reminds his brain.

Noah's not sure that anything could make him forget that fact.

"But so serious!" Henry calls and the audience is suddenly rolling with peals of laughter, like Henry had just made the funniest joke. It’s true though; the forty-foot tall version of Noah is standing with a firm frown on his face, arms crossed against his chest as he looks on after the other tributes as they train. Even when Ameera turns to speak to him, he answers tersely – for the life of him, Noah cannot remember this moment and there’s a disorienting feeling of unreality as Noah watches himself with almost no recognition whatsoever. "Look at that face! You too Noah, look! Rather a thoughtful chap aren't you?"

And this is it, this is the perfect lead in to the persona Noah is supposed to be offering to the millions of people hanging on to his every word. Noah knows precisely how the interview will go, has seen countless recordings of Henry with tributes just like Noah. He knows Henry will _ooh_ and _aah_ at all the right moments, that he will feed him all the very best lines for Noah to capitalize on. The audience will gasp and applaud at his courage - his ruthlessness - stunned and delighted at this boy turned murderer.

And suddenly, Dusty's words come back to him - _don't forget to smile._ Never mind that Noah has been explicitly forbidden from smiling by his father, Dusty is trusting Noah to follow his instincts. So Noah takes a leap.

He smiles - not widely, but enough - and Henry blinks in mild surprise before beaming back. "Most of the time," Noah agrees slowly. "Especially during training like that," he continues. "And then once you're out of training it's hard to let go of that mindset." Henry's face becomes one of almost comical sympathy and the audience coos collectively.

Noah marvels at how easy it is to sway them, how simple it is for Henry to huff and sigh and turn the tides of the audience’s mood with just a few words. “So Noah, talk to us. Tell us the truth.” Henry is beckoning him closer, leaning forward with an intent look on his face. “Why are you here at the Games? Why did you volunteer to be tribute?”

And oh god, there are so many answers on the tip of Noah’s tongue and some of them range from mildly acceptable to completely unrepeatable – _my father made me into a murderer at the age of twelve,_ shouts his brain, _this is all I have left_ – but instead, Noah digs down deeper and finds a truth that he doesn’t mind sharing.

“Because I know I can win,” Noah says simply. “I have the skills, I have the strength, I have the speed – the boy who was chosen couldn’t have won. But I can, I can win it for him and for District 2, and for my dad and my mentor.” Noah pauses, not sure of the words leaving his mouth. “This isn’t all I want from life, but if I’m here, then someone else isn’t. That’s good enough for me.”

“Oh!” Henry puffs out, hand against his chest in a dramatic show of sympathy. “Let’s hear it for Noah everyone!” he calls out into the dark of the audience and there is a roar of approval that Noah doesn’t need or want.

“You mentioned your father,” Henry says and Noah tries not to let his expression betray him. “What does it mean to you for him to be here with you? How important is he to you?”

And how is he supposed to answer this? How is Noah supposed to explain the difference between wanting to be a son worth loving or a man worth being? How is Noah supposed to talk about how much he hates his father and how much more he loves him? How wanting to be loved sometimes feels the same as loving and sometimes feels so very, very different?

The easy answer is: he can’t.

“He’s all I have,” Noah begins haltingly. “He’s all I’ve ever had, really – my mom died years ago. And this, the Games, it became our thing. I want him to be proud of me,” Noah answers honestly. “I want to be the son that he knows I can be. A lot of this is for him. I want him to know that.”

“Family means so much to us, doesn’t it,” Henry asks rhetorically of the audience and they applaud in agreement as Noah lets out a long, slow breath. “Speaking of nearest and dearest,” Henry intones, leaning forward, forcing Noah to mimic the behavior or look like he was leaning away. “I hear that there’s something special brewing on the horizon for you.” Noah blinks as the crowd hums their interest. “A certain, special someone?” Behind them, the screen flares to life with several silent video clips – he and Luke sitting together at lunch, passing one another in the hall and waving briefly, standing beside one another at one of the many group tribute photo opportunities. Noah can’t divine any particular significance from these moments – he recalls much more clearly the quick brush of their hands as they greet each other before a group breakfast one morning, and the soft, swift smile that Noah gets every time Luke catches him mouthing _‘and may the odds be ever in your favor’_ each time someone announces it dramatically over the intercom. The audience seems to see something Noah does not – they ooh dramatically and Noah is forced to stare back at Henry with something like fond confusion.

“You,” Henry begins theatrically, “and Luciano Grimaldi are rumored to be having a torrid affair – true or false?” And now suddenly, Noah cannot help but think of Luke like that. Sure, the articles and the bullshitting tabloids have insinuated much, but until this moment, Noah has not truly considered what it would be like for those things to be true. His face floods with color as he imagines – just for a second – having drawn that pliant, red cheeked Luke towards him that night in the corridor. Having settled proprietary hands at the small of his back, faces bent close, gazes locked firmly on the other.

_Shit._

Noah coughs and the noise of the audience swells to a incoherent roar that takes Henry several moments to quiet to a dull rumble. “False,” he answers truthfully, face earnest even as he tries and fails to mentally bat away the images that are now rushing in between every breath. “Luke is a really interesting person and it’s been an honor to get to meet and talk to him. But we’re not together and we never have been.” The audience voice their discontent and disapproval at this answer but Henry quiets them again.

“But that’s not to say if he asked…” Henry suggests coyly, gesturing mildly with one hand. Noah fidgets and realizes that he is expected to answer.

“I’m a bit busy for that sort of thing,” Noah prevaricates, offering a slight smile. “And it wouldn’t be very fair, what with me leaving so soon. And Luke deserves far better than that.”

“That’s not a no folks!” Henry calls out to the audience, and Noah knows they’ve made up their minds about he and Luke and there is little he can do to change them now. The interview wraps with a few more comments about Noah’s chances in the Games and Noah does his best to project quiet confidence even as his mind is whirling. When he finally exits the stage it is to a roar of approval so loud that Noah nearly stumbles as he steps down from the platform. Fortunately he makes it backstage to Dusty with no incident and has enough presence of mind to flash Ameera a small smile of good luck before Dusty crushes Noah in his arms and swings him around.

“Well done kid!” Dusty crows. “That was exactly what you needed. The crowd got their militant, sociopath from Kevin – but you! You’re human, you’re honorable, you’re a son and a brother and a friend – they fucking _love_ you.” Noah huffs out a laugh, still breathless from his time on stage – but it occurs to him that his father is no longer standing beside Dusty. His brow furrows slightly as he twists, trying to find the Colonel in the small crowd.

“Where’s my –” He doesn’t finish before Dusty sighs.

“He… he went back upstairs Noah.” Noah doesn’t understand for a second – why would his father leave? Why wouldn’t he wait for Noah to get offstage? This was Noah’s big moment, why wasn’t he here at least to ream Noah out for not following the plan? Didn’t he see how wonderfully the crowd had responded? How much Henry had loved Noah? “He wasn’t… he wasn’t happy.”

Suddenly, any brilliant feelings he had from winning over the crowd fade under the tidal wave of guilt and anger that is so familiar when thinking about his father. “It’s fine,” Noah murmurs gruffly a moment later. “I guess we’ll talk tomorrow.” Dusty watches him carefully a moment before nodding.

“Sure, okay. Hey, by the way kid, I thought we weren’t playing the ‘besotted with Luke Grimaldi’ card?” Dusty’s tone is amused, but his expression is clearly befuddled.

“What?” Noah asks, startled. “I wasn’t!” Dusty raises both eyebrows so far up that they seem to disappear into his hair. Instead of responding, he merely points at one of the screens still showing Noah’s interview – and Noah has to swallow hard, because he sees it.

It’s his expression the second they bring Luke up – fond and bashful, nervous and a little reluctant to talk about something that he clearly cares about.

It’s the face he makes when he says and Luke deserves better – he is so intent, so earnest. It is clear to anyone watching that Noah firmly believes the words he is saying, so much so that anyone would consider Noah’s words a bald-faced admission of attraction.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to,” Noah says, his tone a little hollow, the ache in his chest full of embarrassment and terror. “I didn’t think… oh god, what’s Luke going to think?” And he’s embarrassed that his thoughts are about Luke in this moment, but all he can think about is the pitying look he’s going to receive the next time he spots Luke in the hallway, how all of Luke’s stupidly wry smiles are going to disappear behind mortified expressions.

“It’ll be okay,” Dusty promises, drawing Noah back under his arm, squeezing him briefly. “We’ll figure it out.”

Noah knows it’s not true, but he lets Dusty keep his arm over his shoulders anyway - because he wants him to be right more than anything.

-

_Capitol Fashion managed to catch up with our very favorite bachelor: Luciano Grimaldi! We quizzed him about everything under the sun and in return he gave us the lowdown on where to eat, his new favorite color and – best of all! – one Noah Mayer!_

CF: Hi Luciano! We are such big fans!  
LG: Hi you guys! Aw, that’s so sweet! I really appreciate that. Please, call me Luke. I’m such a big fan of CF as well!  
CF: [ _Editor’s Note: Ignore that crash in the background, that’s just our interviewer fainting in delight. Kidding!_ ] If you insist! And no way, you’re just saying that!  
LG: No, I swear – how else will I know how to stay off the Worst Dressed lists? You guys have saved me more than once.  
CF: Oh please, you couldn’t make it on one of those if you tried! [ _Editor’s Note: Check out Luke on our Best Dressed pages in this very issue, p. 23 & 24!_]  
LG: That’s very kind of you – but I swear it’s because I follow all of your rules. My new favorite color is red this season and it’s all thanks to you guys.  
CF: Well, you’re wearing it well! Like last week at Lindhurst – our cameras saw you show up for dinner in that brilliant red Cinna coat! You looked great. Was that a date, by any chance?  
LG: Thank you! And oh man, Lindhurst is my favorite new restaurant, you guys should definitely go check it out. It’d be great for a date, but I wasn’t on one. Just with some friends.  
CF: Great for a date? Say with… someone like Noah Mayer?  
LG: Oh jeez, I walked right into that one didn’t I? [laughs good-naturedly] Noah wishes he could eat at Lindhurst I bet – unfortunately tribute’s diets are super restricted and super boring. Not so glamorous as some people are thinking, I’m sure.  
CF: Oh come on, give us a little more than that – you saw his interview with Henry last night, didn’t you? He’s got a total crush on you!  
LG: [innocent look] You think so?  
CF: Don’t make us try and hold you hostage til you give us a straight answer! Would you go out with Noah if he asked? Don’t play coy!  
LG: Well that was blunt!  
CF: Can you blame us? We’re dying to know!  
LG: I’d be incredibly flattered, that’s for sure. Noah’s definitely one of the good ones out there – and he’ll be one to watch in the Games!  
CF: So your money’s on Noah?  
LG: Oh gosh, I don’t think I’m allowed to say something like that! [laughs] But I think he’s a good bet and honestly – anyone he would ask out on a date would be lucky to have him!  
CF: Well, our interviewers are predicting you’ll be one lucky guy in the near future then! Thanks so much for joining us today Luke!  
LG: Thanks so much for having me!

_Missed last night’s interview with Noah? Want to know what all the fuss is about? Go check out our coverage on Henry’s interviews with the tributes on page 64 and get the whole scoop!_

-

Noah doesn’t mean to find Luke, but the moment he does, he cannot help the hurt and the anger that wells up inside him. All anyone has spoken to him about over the past day has been that stupid, stupid interview with Henry and that shitty gossip magazine. _They had agreed,_ Noah wants to shout to anyone willing to listen; they had agreed that that sort of coy game was pointless and insulting. And yet the first moment Luke had had to stamp out any rumors he went and played the exact card Noah had refused to accept. He had played the game as if he was actually interested in Noah – when he hadn’t even looked at Noah since the night of Henry’s interview.

Noah has very little in this world that he could call his own – but his emotions were his business and his business alone. Having them called into question and poked and prodded and observed like he was some sort of show pony was one of the worst things he could imagine. Having watched that interview over and over again, Noah could hardly bear to step out of his room – but Luke hadn’t even given him a second glance in the hallways as they passed one another. Noah has spent the last few days feeling humiliated and hollow, stomach twisted into knots.

“My feelings are not a game,” Noah hisses at Luke the moment he is assured they are alone in the corridor, his mouth moving with little to no permission from his brain. “What happened to not making each other a public relations ploy? What happened to not using each other? Were you just lying through your teeth?”

Luke’s face changes rapidly until it is twisted in an almost completely unrecognizable expression. “I could ask you the exact same question,” he spits back, refusing to back down even as Noah attempts to use his height to intimidate. He gets right up in Noah’s face and stabs him hard in the chest with his finger, fury written on every inch of his expression. “What the hell was that interview with Henry? What the fuck was that show? How dare you accuse me of using you when that entire interview was one huge farce?”

Noah reels back as if he’s been slapped. He’d never thought… but of course Luke would never assume that Noah’s feelings for him were anything but fake. What proof has there ever been that Noah could feel anything but sharp distaste for those around him?

“It wasn’t- I didn’t…” Noah tries to start, but knows he sounds so pathetic that he cuts himself off. Because how can you explain to someone that you didn’t mean to sound like you were in love with them? That it only came out that way because you didn’t realize you were ass over ears for them? But the look Luke is sending him is so poisonous, so vitriolic that Noah is desperate to tell him something that will stop him from looking at Noah like he has betrayed him – because he hasn’t. “I wasn’t playing a game,” he gets out, choking on the words like they are too big for his mouth, too big for his heart.

In a split second, Luke’s entire face changes. Again it is nearly unrecognizable, but this time because of its unreadability. Luke is staring at him with something in his eyes that Noah literally does not comprehend.

“Have you ever had to sell it?” Luke murmurs, his eyes ablaze. “I don’t just mean a smile, or a wave. I mean, selling yourself. Selling a completely alternate personality and character. Someone you’ve never been, someone you’ll never be. But you need to sell it to tread water or drown trying – because giving even a piece of yourself away in this city is just like giving it all away. And I can’t-“ and here his voice breaks and Luke looks away but Noah is spellbound. “I can’t lose me, Noah Mayer. It’s the only thing I’ve got.”

“No,” Noah replies almost immediately, his mouth moving again with no permission from his brain. “No Luke, you’ve got me now too.” Because he does – because Noah gets it now. Maybe not perfectly and maybe not enough, but he gets it. Noah has struggled all this time to keep himself tucked away, every hint of emotion or actual sign of human life pressed deep behind curtains of stoicism and violence – and it has worked, because no one has ever pressed deep enough. No one has ever asked Noah to bare his heart, to speak his mind, to show a smile. He’s never been tested.

But Luke has been poked and prodded and dissected every moment of his life. He has never stepped foot outside without someone questioning his expression, his clothes, his voice, his taste, his actions, his words – everything. Interviewers have begged for Luke to bare his soul to them, to show them what makes him tick. And he’s had to pretend for every single person in his life. He’s had to show them precisely what they wanted – without giving a single inch of himself away. He’s had to lie and enchant and bewitch and bewilder – and somehow remain sane behind closed doors.

Noah is amazed and stunned and in utter awe that Luke is still whole, still able to piece himself together after years of being in disguise.

“I was trying so hard not to talk about you and… _us_ ,” Luke says, choking slightly on the word ‘us’, like he wasn’t sure how to say it correctly. “I wanted to keep you out of it, out of that stupid world and its endless black hole of vapidity, I wanted to avoid it, I swear, I just – I didn’t know how to lie about you.” Luke looks helpless for the first time in Noah’s memory. “I used you because you’re the one thing I don’t know how to lie about.” He ducks his head. “I’m so sorry Noah.”

“I’m sorry too,” Noah replies honestly. “I didn’t know. I thought…” Noah’s face twists as he tries to find the words to talk about the stupid ache in his chest and the feeling he gets when he sees Luke. He wants to talk about the things he’s supposed to think and feel and do and not knowing how to tell the difference between weakness and strength anymore because he doesn’t feel weak when he’s around Luke even though he knows that’s what his father would call it. “I’ve been really stupid,” he admits, managing a mangled smile.

“You’re not the only one,” Luke murmurs, smiling back softly.

Noah huffs out a laugh. “Can I… uh, can I try this whole thing again?” he asks, hunching his shoulders slightly, rubbing embarrassedly at the back of his neck. “I swear I can do it better this time.”

Luke’s eyes dance as he pretends to consider Noah’s request, taking a few steps closer – close enough that Noah can easily imagine wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging him the last few inches against Noah. “You don’t have to start over,” Luke offers, his tone quiet and serious, the look in his eyes hovering somewhere between hopeful and cautious, “If you promise me that this is real.”

Noah’s expression is serious when he replies, “I think this is the first real thing I’ve ever done.” And he does exactly as his arms have been itching to do and pulls Luke closer, gently, tugging his warm body against Noah’s, drawing him up to reach Noah’s lips. When their lips touch, it feels as if the air has been pulled up out of Noah’s lungs. Everything is warm and hazy and entirely impossible to describe – all Noah knows is that this is a feeling he wants for forever and kissing Luke is something he never wants to stop doing.

When they eventually break apart, Luke’s hands have gravitated to Noah’s shoulders, tapping out a rhythmless beat with his fingertips. His eyes are glued to Noah’s face where the evidence of Noah’s incandescent happiness is apparent in the stupidly dopey grin he cannot wipe away. “Real?” Luke asks, smile already quirking his lips.

“Really real,” Noah replies, before drawing Luke back up into another kiss, not willing to let him go.

-  


_You heard it here first, **Hunger Magazine** ’s got exclusive photos of Luciano Grimaldi and tribute Noah Mayer cuddling up! Our photographers caught them in a private chat and it looks like despite their denial to the public that anything extra is going on between them, they are definitely going strong and hot and heavy! Their secret relationship is definitely no longer a secret to us! Turn to page ten and check them out!_

-

“I expect you know why I’ve called you in here,” Damian says without looking up from the file he’s reading. And yes, Luke can figure out with relative ease that his father is not pleased with the developments attached to Luke’s name, but honestly there’s very little he can do about it. Or wants to do about it, really.

“Yes,” Luke replies politely instead. “I believe so.”

Quicker than Luke would ever have given him credit for, Damian whips out a copy of the latest issue of Hunger Magazine, the one that claims to have gotten risqué photos of he and Noah together.

“Oh come on Damian,” Luke groans. “You’ve looked at the photos, haven’t you? They’re literally of me and Noah standing next to or near each other at various meet and greets. There’s literally nothing scandalous about them.”

“That is not the point Luciano!” Damian thunders and Luke falls silent, his mouth twisted into a scowl. “The point is,” Damian continues icily, “I asked you to be careful, to be wary. I asked you to be on your guard. And this! This is all anyone knows of the Games this year!” Damian slams the paper down on his desk and sends several papers scattering.

“You are in a very dangerous and important position Luciano,” Damian says silkily, winding around his desk until he is leaning over his son. “Everyone looks to you as an example, you are in the spotlight more than I. You are more accessible than I am – the people love you, they want to know you.” Luke knows that Damian needs no response from him to continue, so he just stares at a spot over his father’s shoulder, face set in stone. “And this… this deviance is not what the Grimaldis are about!” Damian shouts.

Silence.

“I understand,” Luke lies, because he doesn’t, not really. He cannot think of anything less harmful than what he feels about Noah. If only the entire world could feel what he felt for Noah, then Luke is sure that every problem ever encountered could be solved. “I’ll do better,” Luke lies again.

“See that you do,” Damian murmurs and lets him leave.

It takes Luke less than five seconds to decide to go find Noah.

-

“Noah!” The Colonel barks and Noah finds himself snapping to attention before he even recognizes he’s doing it. “Noah, get in here!” Noah casts a glance at Dusty, who heaves a sigh and shrugs. Ameera casts him a pitying look and that’s the last thing Noah sees after he enters his father’s office, all dark woods and tinted glass.

“Yes sir?” Noah asks, standing at parade rest, waiting for his father to gesture to one of the two seats in front of his enormous desk. He’s settled behind it in his own chair and he’s watching Noah with considering, narrowed eyes.

“Sit,” he commands tersely and Noah does so. “What is this disgusting shit?” he snaps, gesturing at Noah with the front page of Hunger Magazine, and Noah tries not to flinch.

“Rumors, sir,” Noah answers, a split second too late and Winston’s face twists.

“Rumors?” he bellows, slamming his hands down on his desk and standing. “Rumors don’t account for you missing training sessions! Rumors don’t make up for you being out of bed after curfew! Rumors don’t allow for this kind of disgusting behavior!” The newspaper goes sailing at Noah’s face and only his quick reflexes keep it from slapping him in the mouth. “I fucking told you we wouldn’t have any of that horrific behavior in this family! This is a weakness Noah!” Winston shouts, circling around the desk to come closer to his son. “This is a disgusting, worthless weakness and I will not allow it! Do you understand?”

The rage that burns in Noah’s chest is so hot that Noah feels as if the chair beneath him is liable to burst into flames at any moment. Instead, he forces a nod, his entire body trembling with fury. “I understand,” Noah says, because he knows what his father wants.

“You will never see him again outside of mandated events,” Winston hisses and Noah nods again.

“Yes sir,” he lies flat out.

-

Luke and Noah find one another with ridiculous ease - there is a corridor near the one in which they first kissed that Noah has come to think of as theirs and it is there that he finds Luke tucked up behind a large pillar, hands folded firmly in his lap as he stares out at the city around them.

"Those were some seriously stupid pictures," Noah offers as he settles in next to Luke, glancing down at the other boy.

"They were," Luke agrees quietly, but he still doesn't draw his gaze away from the people and buildings below them. A long silence falls but Noah is good with silence, he understands silence far better than normal conversation. They sit together comfortably and watch the sky fade from white to the pale orange of sunset.

"My father thinks that the people want to know me," Luke finally says. "He thinks that they love me." Luke's face is twisted up into an expression that Noah hates - he looks exhausted and completely drained. And he looks as if that is all he'll ever be. "They don't know me at all Noah, they don't know the first thing about me - and neither does he!" Luke snaps out. "How can anyone love me if they don't know a single fucking thing about me!"

And there are so many things Noah wants to say in response to that - because he feels like he knows Luke. He may not know all the inconsequential things - like Luke's favorite color or song - but he knows Luke. He knows that there is a spot behind his ear that makes Luke melt if you brush it, he knows everything there is to know about Luke's relationship with his father, he knows every single one of Luke's smiles and which are fake and which are real. Noah knows Luke better than he thinks he knows himself sometimes and it is that realization that shows Noah that there is only one thing to say to Luke now.

"I don't know everything yet," Noah says quietly, sliding his hand into Luke's. "But I want to, I really, really want to. Because I love you." The grip on Noah's hand becomes incredibly painful for a split second before Luke's grip relaxes.

"That's not fair Noah," Luke says, his voice muffled as he ducks to press his chin against his chest, eyes clenched shut. "That's not fair, you're going away soon. You can't tell me that and leave."

"I couldn't leave and not tell you," Noah counters immediately and that forces a wet laugh from Luke. A second later, Noah's arms are filled with warm blond and Noah hugs him tightly, pressing his face into Luke's hair. "Do you believe me?" Noah asks softly, his words puffs of hot air against Luke's ear.

"I believe you," Luke whispers back, tangling his fingers in Noah's shirt. "I believe you, because I know you too." And Noah understands those words for what they are. He tightens his grip around Luke and they sit there for a long while, until the orange of sunset fades into the endless black of night, until the responsibilities of reality force them to part.

-

Noah isn’t nervous about rankings. He knows precisely how well he’s done and just how much more prepared he is than the other tributes. Showing off for Damian and the other officials had been nerve-wracking only in the way that everything here has been the most terrifying thing Noah has ever done. Everything in the Capitol is tinged with that awful horror and honestly all he wants now is to find Luke and pretend like he won’t be disappearing in the next few days.

Instead he’s settled into the huge couch in the District 2 apartment, surrounded by Dusty and Ameera and his father, as well as Mason and the rest of the stylist team and several of the other District 2 ambassadors and officials. Kevin’s ranking of a ten and Alison’s eight are unsurprising and now the announcers are building up to their next tribute – Noah. The rankings are between one and twelve, with twelve being a perfect score. Determined by a private training session with the Gamemaker and other officials, a ranking is a good determiner in how well a tribute will do in the games. They also play a strong role in how many sponsors a tribute will get. As prepared as they are, Careers rarely have rankings lower than eight or nine. Noah knows he will get a score like that with relative ease.

“Now, Noah Mayer has surprised everyone with his unorthodox interview style and the possibly romantic connection to Gamemaker Grimaldi’s son Luciano – but even with all this scandal surrounding his name, Mayer has proved in training to be both swift and powerful, making him a strong contender for the crown. Now, his ranking is coming in momentarily and I’m going to bet it’ll be in the double digits at least – at least a ten, perhaps an eleven, and here it is folks, Mayer’s ranking is… am I reading that right? A three?”

Noah’s tribute standard picture is circling on the screen, a large three overlaying it. Noah can barely hear the announcer over the roaring in his ears and the shouting of everyone around him. Winston is on his feet and bellowing at the officials who are running around, com phones already to their ears as they shout at people on the other end. Dusty is shouting at the television, frustration writ in every line of his face. Three? A _three_? Noah can clearly remember his crossbow piercing the center of every target, his knives carving the training dummy to pieces. Noah’s training session had been _perfect_. But he’d scored a three?

Finally the announcer’s voice on the screen filters through, the words echoing in Noah’s head. “Videos of training sessions have been circling the Capitol and Mayer’s ranking seems definitely below his actual ability. Perhaps this is Gamemaker Grimaldi’s way of showing his displeasure with his son’s choice in significant other? Little else can explain such a dramatic decline in Mayer’s perceived ranking – unless he fell asleep in the training session!” The announcers chuckle and move on to Ameera, who ranks a very respectable nine.

“Congratulations,” Noah hears himself say quietly to the girl beside him, who is looking at him with a combination of pity and triumph and terror. Noah is marked now in a way he has never been before. He is a weak link within the Careers and he knows that none of them will hesitate to strike him down if given the opportunity. And with him gone, Ameera’s chance of being District 2’s chosen champion rise exponentially. But without the money from sponsors for Noah, the combined funds that Dusty pulls from will be dramatically decreased, lessening the chance that Ameera will get help if she needs it. Damian has killed them both.

But all she says in response is a quiet thank you and Noah knows he cannot be in this room any longer. Not with the Games tomorrow, not with this hanging over his head. None of these people can possibly understand the absolute gut wrenching terror he is feeling. None of these people could possibly say anything he wants to hear. Most importantly of all, none of these people are Luke.

“Noah!” The colonel shouts as Noah stands and heads for the door. “Noah, get back here, we have to strategize, we have-”

“No,” Noah replies simply. “I’ll be back in the morning.” Winston makes to move after him, but Dusty stops him. The look on his face is complete understanding and Noah wishes he had it in him to thank Dusty just now.

“Let him go. We’ll have time in the morning to talk.”

-

The late evening staff of the tower’s cafeteria is now completely used to Luke and Noah stopping by for coffee in the mostly empty dining hall. Very few people bother them here and most of the paparazzi are concerned with stalking tributes to and from their rooms at this point as they flit back and forth between parties and various meet and greet sessions. Luke and Noah are generally able to grab an empty table and talk until the sun starts to rise. For now, the sun has just barely set on what Noah is considering the worst day of his life and it is all he can do to keep from tearing his hair out. He spots some of the other tributes at other tables, each nursing drinks, some sitting in groups, most alone. He and Luke have claimed their usual small table away from most.

“I’m so sorry Noah,” Luke says for the forty-second time and Noah just rolls his eyes in response.

“Luke,” he repeats, “It is not your fault.” Luke makes a face at Noah that says he very much doubts that, but Noah ignores him. “It isn’t. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because it’s done.” Noah stares down into his mug of coffee gone cold and tries not to let the simmering fury building in his stomach rise to choke him.

“I didn’t think he would go this far,” Luke whispers finally and Noah offers a twisted, unhappy smile in return. “I’m going to do everything I can to help you,” he says firmly, sliding a hand across the table to lay over Noah’s. “I’ll pull every string, contact every sponsor I know, I won’t let this hurt you Noah, I won’t-”

“I know,” Noah says, not even attempting to keep Luke from using his influence to help Noah. Truthfully, Noah knows he will need the help - and now that the end of the Games mean being with Luke or never seeing him again, Noah has yet another reason for wanting to walk out as champion. “I know you’ll do everything you can,” he says softly.

Quiet settles over them again and it is that soft silence that finally sets Noah off, the fury in his chest boiling over uncontrollably. “It’s not supposed to be this hard!” Noah snaps suddenly, livid and furious at himself for letting Luke see him so angry. He tugs his hand away, ashamed. “Careers aren’t supposed to worry about sponsors, I wasn’t supposed to have to deal with this!” Noah’s chest is tight with his ache to hurt something or someone. Part of that feeling, he knows, is the terror that comes with not knowing, with the Games being only a matter of hours away. Without sponsors, Noah has no backup plan. There is no one around who will guarantee Noah’s health or survival if something goes wrong.

Noah’s thoughts are interrupted by dark laughter from a few feet away. Both he and Luke turn to see Casey settled in with a large mug of coffee, his face twisted in something like disgust. “It’s not supposed to be _hard_?” he asks, sneering. “Jeez, poor Noah, throw yourself a bigger pity party, _please_.” Luke opens his mouth to snap back, but Noah squeezes his wrist in warning – it’s clear Casey has had more than a few drinks, his ranking of six earlier that evening not doing much to improve his chances in the Games.

“Tell me,” Casey snaps, “When have you ever wanted for anything? Try me again for sympathy when your family has to consider taking tesserae every year – because what’s dying in the Games compared to starving for a whole year? Hard for Careers?” Casey spits, looking disgusted. “Try taking a look around.”

And the words are hard to hear – and it is somehow even harder to watch Casey stand and walk away from him – but Noah knows they are the truth. He has wanted for very little in his day to day life and he has certainly never even considered taking out a tessera token – the meager yearly supply of bread and grain that the Capitol gives in exchange for putting your child’s name in the drawing for the Games an additional time. Casey will probably have very few sponsors to help him survive the Games and that thought no longer relieves Noah like it once would, assuring him of one less opponent to be worried about. Instead, the thought exhausts Noah further. Everything at once seems so utterly hopeless.

Except…

“Come on,” Noah says, standing and offering his hand to Luke, “Let’s get out of here.” Luke is looking up at him with wide brown eyes, still beautiful in that way that Noah can never seem to describe or quantify. He takes Noah’s hand without hesitation and Noah’s heart hurts with how well their fingers lace together, how perfectly they fit.

“Is there somewhere we can go,” Noah asks quietly, “where no one will find us for awhile?” Luke nods fervently and tugs him out of the dining hall and down the corridor, turning so swiftly that Noah loses complete track of where they are. They make it finally to a far, dimly lit hallway with an elevator and Luke shoos him inside and taps in a code that sends the elevator car shooting straight up more quickly than Noah could have guessed.

“Perks of being the Gamemaker’s son,” Luke shrugs, a half guilty smile still stitched across his face. Noah wishes he could erase that guilt and somehow convince Luke that Noah does not blame him a single iota for his rankings - but he knows it is no use.

They reach the very highest number on the elevator’s series of buttons and the door slides silently open, only to reveal a wide, dark expanse of sky and a stunningly bright skyline set against it.

“Hardly anyone ever comes up here,” Luke murmurs, tugging gently at Noah’s hand and leading him out onto the roof of the tower, past wide ventilation grates and several small storehouses. “Very few people have the code.” Luke offers another smile, this one a little bit more real. “So we shouldn’t be bothered.”

“Good,” Noah nods, firm, before tugging Luke close again and kissing him deep and languid and slow. Luke melts into the embrace, arms sliding up and around Noah’s neck. One of Noah’s hands settle firmly on Luke’s cheek, his thumb brushing gentle teases at the spot behind Luke’s ear. They break apart for breath only to press even closer a moment later, Luke licking impatiently back into Noah’s mouth, hands burying themselves in Noah’s thick, dark hair.

They pull away reluctantly, but only far enough to settle themselves on a railing several feet from the edge of the tower. They press close, their fingers winding loosely together as they stare out across the Capitol, bright lights flashing.

“I used to love them, the Games I mean,” Luke says almost wistfully, nostalgic for a time when things weren't so terrifying and complicated. “I didn’t know - I mean, I was too young to understand... and my dad was always involved and-” Luke is babbling now, eyes wide like he actually believes Noah is under the impression that Luke still loves the Hunger Games.

“Luke, Luke,” he interrupts, a sad smile on his face. “I know.” Noah tries to remember a time he enjoyed the Games - but even his youngest memories are tempered by the Academy’s lessons. “I always knew one day I’d be here,” Noah says finally, slowly. “And that I’d do anything to win.”

“And then what?” Luke prompts and Noah blinks at him, not understanding.

“What?”

“After you’d won,” Luke clarifies, turning to stare directly at Noah. “What would come next?”

Noah swallows. “I... have absolutely no idea,” he admits, dropping his glance to his hands. “I never thought that far.” Luke makes a noise that tugs Noah’s eyes up to him and when their gazes meet, Noah is astonished to see Luke smiling sadly across at him.

“I don’t want you to go,” Luke whispers into his knees, wrapping his arms around his bent legs to keep them tucked to his chest. He scrunches his eyes shut, not wanting to look beside him at the expression on Noah’s face as he spoke. “I know it’s not fair to say anything, I know there isn’t anything you can do to change it, but you have to know, Noah, you have to know that I-”

Noah doesn’t give him the chance to finish. He cranes his neck to catch Luke's lips with his again and he kisses him hard. Luke is stunned into quiet and Noah takes the opportunity to memorise the taste of his mouth. He licks softly against Luke's lips and slides in past his teeth and lets his tongue tangle gently with Luke's. There is mint and chocolate and the slightest hint of something unidentifiable. "I know," Noah breathes out when they finally break apart. "Trust me, I know." He closes his eyes tightly and presses his forehead against Luke's, letting out several shaky breaths. "I would much rather be here with you, too."

The sound Luke lets out at that sends Noah's stomach twisting, but he doesn't comment on it. He doesn't want to draw attention to the way Noah knows Luke is clutching at his arm as if he thinks Noah will disappear in the next ten seconds. He doesn't want to show the world how likely it is that Noah is going to break apart beneath his skin any moment now.

"If I come back," Noah says a moment later, ashamed of the way his voice trembles in uncertainty. "If I-"

" _When_ you," Luke corrects fiercely. "When you come back, you can have anything you want."

"Anything?" Noah asks, tone only mildly teasing, but even he cannot bring himself to let go of Luke for a second. "Even…" Noah's voice goes quiet. "Even you?"

"Oh Noah," Luke murmurs quietly, pressing his lips to Noah's forehead for a brief moment . "You already have me. And that's not going to change. Not ever."

"Same here," Noah replies lamely, unsure of the words he needs to tell Luke exactly how he feels, frustrated with his own inability to make Luke understand exactly what Noah is leaving behind.

"Don't say goodbye," Luke says a moment later, his warm breath tickling Noah's temple. "Just stay with me as long as you can." Noah simply nods and wraps his arms tightly around Luke, shielding him from the cool breeze dancing across the tower roof, wishing there was more he could say or do.

Wishing, not for the first time, that he had been born someone other than Noah Mayer.  



	3. scour the earth

“Find water, find high ground, make sure-“

“I stay low, stay quiet, stay awake, I know Dusty,” Noah cuts him off, not unkindly. “I know. I’m ready.”

“Oh kid,“ Dusty sighs, his eyes unbearably sad. “If that’s true, then I’m sorry.”

“You did your best with me,” Noah says firmly and Dusty only scowls in response.

“My best to send you off into god knows what hell,” Dusty mutters.

“You have no choice,” Noah reminds him, feeling far calmer than he thought he would, a night spent with Luke in his arms settling him in a way that nothing else could have. “Neither of us do.” Dusty stares at Noah wildly for a second and Noah shifts uncertainly from one foot to the other.

“What?” he finally bites out, uncomfortable under Dusty’s scrutiny. “What is it?”

Dusty manages a weak smile, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he murmurs, “Just that you’re the very best Noah. That I’ve ever seen.”

“The best tribute?” Noah asks, curiosity warring with pleasure and pride.

“The best man,” Dusty says after a moment. “The very best man I’ve ever met.”

Noah doesn’t know what to say. There isn’t anything he can come up with in the few minutes they have left that would sum up what Dusty’s done for him, what he’s given Noah by being there for him. Instead he mentally saves the feeling Dusty’s pride gives him, placing it away safely to pull out in a particularly hard day. It’s a place in his mind that also contains the sound of Luke’s laugh and his father saying _I love you once_ , long ago.

Noah is nothing if not prepared for every eventuality.

“Thank you,” Noah replies honestly. “For everything.” Dusty just shakes his head and after a quick embrace, lets Noah step into the plastic lift that will raise him up into the Cornucopia, the bloodbath. Noah turns away from his mentor, not sure if he’s prepared to watch Dusty watch him leave.

“Hey Noah,” Dusty calls as the lift starts to go. Noah turns back, eyes wide. “Don’t forget to smile, kid.”

When moments later the countdown starts and the cameras pan across the faces of the contestants, Noah is the only tribute smiling.

Ten.

Nine.

The intercom booms with the strangely robotic voice of the Game announcer. Each number feels like an earthquake in Noah’s chest as the reverb sends his ribs trembling.

Eight.

Seven.

Noah thinks of Luke, knows that thanks to the camera focused on his face at this very moment that the other boy is seeing him. He fights the urge to whisper _I love you_ into the lens and instead stares right back.

Six.

Five.

Noah feels a sick calm fall over him as he rises up on the platform, daylight finally breaking into his glass tube, the sun blinding him for a moment before his vision clears and he gets his first view of the Game’s terrain. Though he and the other tributes are standing in a wide clearing nearly a mile wide, the foliage at the edge of the field is so dense that Noah can hardly see past the first few trees and plants.

Four.

Three.

 _Rainforest,_ Noah has time to think. The glass tubes slide away, though Noah knows the platforms are pressure sensitive and to step off early would be tantamount to suicide. Rainforest, water, poisonous predators, poisonous plants, flat ground, high trees, recites his mind even as he crouches slightly, already preparing for the end of the countdown.

Two.

Noah tenses.

_One._

The siren blares and the tributes launch off their platforms, most heading for the very center of the clearing where crates upon crates sit filled to the brim with supplies and food. This is the Cornucopia, this is the bloodbath. This is place where most tributes will fall in the first few minutes of the Games. Few can resist the pull of food and gear that will help them later on. Weapons and packs filled with more supplies are sprinkled among the clearing with the very best provisions settled in the very middle. If tributes are smart, they'll stay away - it's too many bodies pressed too close together and it's not worth the risk if a tribute isn't trained well enough.

Careers are trained to run straight into the bloodbath.

It takes Noah about three seconds to cross the clearing at a dead sprint, slinging two packs up onto his back and snatching up a hunting knife stuck into the ground. He conscious of people all around him, weak, young tributes who know the Cornucopia is their last chance of finding food for days, who know that they are taking their lives into their hands coming into contact with the stronger tributes so early in the game.

It is here that he and the others earn their title as Careers. Noah is careful only to kill those who challenge him as he makes his quick way to the center of the Cornucopia, but even then he knows he leaves at least three bodies behind. His focus is on Kevin, who is halfway across the clearing and taking down anyone he sets his gaze on. All Noah needs is a bigger weapon, like a crossbow or an axe and he’ll move out – the Cornucopia is death for anyone who stays long enough and Noah knows he’s already pushing it.

He finally hits the crates filled with weapons, noting peripherally that Ameera is sprinting past him, armed to the teeth with her preferred weapon of bow and arrows. She’ll be difficult to remove from the playing field now, but Noah is glad at least that he doesn’t have to confront her yet.

He crouches over a box, spotting crossbow bolts near a crate at the bottom and kicks over a series of crates to get to them quickly. Finally. He slides to his knees to rapidly load up one of his packs, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder and counting his seconds under his breath. He’s got about twenty more seconds before he figures Kevin will spot him and start after him and-

In the next instant, Noah registers several things – one, that there is a knife to his throat, and then suddenly, there isn’t. He whirls, his own crossbow aimed – but for no reason, because the young, dark haired girl from District 8 is yanking her own knife out of the side of an older boy who had clearly been about to slice Noah’s throat. Noah gapes, unsure of whether to thank the girl or shoot, but she gives him a _Look_ that reminds him so much of Luke that he freezes. “I-“ She gestures him into silence before standing and sprinting for the edge of the clearing.

“I’m Faith,” she shouts over her shoulder. “You owe me one!” With that, she disappears back into the foliage, reminding Noah that he ought to do the same.

He starts sprinting towards the closest edge of forest he can see, needing to leap over several small bodies and dodge several wide pools of blood, but he makes it just in time – an arrow sails just over his shoulder as he ducks past the trees and impales itself in a trunk several feet past him. Noah doesn’t stop his sprint until he no longer hears any breathing or crashing of feet through the underbrush except his own. He’s soaked through with sweat, the bags heavy on his arms – but he doesn’t pause. He finds a tree with branches sturdy enough and hooks his arm over the highest one, beginning a long, slow climb up. Every muscle burns and his heart refuses to stop roaring in his ears, but he doesn’t stop until the branches become too thin to hold his weight.

And finally he rests.

-

His vantage point is at least thirty feet off the ground and he knows Dusty will be pleased. There is a false bird nest right beside Noah’s elbow on the next branch over and he can see the lens of the hidden camera inside twist and focus every time he moves. He ignores the fact that millions of people are watching him and instead settles in to inspect his loot.

One bag has a few things Noah is stunned at his own good luck for having – iodine tablets, salt, straining cloth – all items that will keep Noah from dying painfully in case the water is contaminated. The rest of the bag contains very little in the way of helpful gear – mostly just twine too weak to really hold things together well and a few apples. Noah hangs the bag and less useful items on a branch nearby and transfers his helpful items into his second bag. He digs through it and is glad to see a solar blanket, fishing hook and line as well as two canteens. Not a bad haul altogether and Noah breathes a sigh of relief.

The sounds of the forest around him are too muffled and vague for him to determine whether or not there are others coming towards him, so he decides to settle in for the night and wait for the daily headcount.

It’s hours before the cannons sound the number of the dead, each boom signaling one death – there are ten booms before the pictures start flashing across the night sky. The players are kept apprised of who is left in the game through these nighttime recounts and Noah is surprised to note how bothered he is by spotting several familiar faces up on the death list - Reg, from District 8, as well as young Liberty from Casey’s District of 12. He’s also surprised at his own relief that Casey, Maddie and Ameera are no where on the list.

The phrase _no weaknesses_ echoes his father’s voice and it is his voice that follows Noah into his dreams.

-

Three days into the Games and Noah is terrified.

The animals of the rainforest have been stalking him from the moment he woke on the second morning, the tree he’d climbed surrounded by snarling werejaguars – big, dark faced cats with distorted snouts bred for the Games specifically, each with a taste for human flesh. Only Noah’s quick shot with the crossbow kept him from being devoured, only allowing himself to slide down the trunk of the tree after a bolt was shot through each of the three jaguars’ eyes.

He moves on quickly from there, but it is soon apparent that disasters are following him. A flashflood quickly overflows the bank of the river he finds to fill his canteens and it is only pure luck that Maddie is caught in the tide too. She and he find a log to float upon until she steers them to shore with a cleverly rigged rudder. “Don’t kill me,” is the first thing she says once they hit dry (or at least, less wet) land. Noah chuckles, still hacking up water, every muscle in his body burning with exhaustion. “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” he answers honestly and they part ways nearly immediately, Maddie concerned with finding Parker and Noah too naturally suspicious to want an alliance just yet.

 _Fortunately for Maddie_ , Noah thinks moments later when he is surrounded by a sea of poisonous snakes who have slithered up in a matter of seconds, forcing him to scale a tree as far up as he can, his muscles screaming at him even as he shivers, still soaked to the bone. He thanks whatever deity may or may not exist for waterproof backpacks and finds the flint he stumbled over earlier that day and forces his shaking hands to steady as he lights several close branches alight and tosses them into the ocean of writhing, hissing bodies. The snakes flee the light and smoke and Noah flings himself from the trees and starts running.

It is all too apparent that something wants him dead. Every moment he takes to rest or even eat, another disaster strikes. The only good Noah can see of this is that he’s rarely encountered any other tributes, all of them staying far away from the monsoons and firestorms that seem to follow in Noah’s wake across the forest. Every night, Noah watches as more die – some caught in the terrible traps meant for Noah: Zac and Zoe to the sea of snakes, Jade to the flood, as well as one unfamiliar face to the fire that followed Noah for at least a mile through the forest.

That night, Noah watches the reel through exhausted eyes. He watches as several more of the younger kids die - one from eating a fruit that looked remarkably like a safe, edible kiwi but that Noah knows to be incredibly poisonous, one at the hands of Alison, quick and painless after she stumbled upon him and lastly, one by Casey after the young girl tries to kill him in his sleep. Noah can’t help but notice Casey has no pack or supplies. The clip of him closes on Casey rifling through the girl’s pockets, face ruddy and ashamed but triumphant when he removes two iodine tables and some strips of dried jerky. Noah swallows the urge to seek him out, to help him hunt, knowing the confrontation would probably end in one of their deaths. Noah tries not to consider too closely his unwillingness to kill Casey or several of the others. He knows he has to - or at least, let Kevin or the elements do the job for him. But he doesn’t have to like it. The cannons ring out seven more deaths, bringing the total of tributes still in the game to eight.

Noah barely sleeps that night, knowing all too well that the second he closes his eyes for longer than a few minutes, all hell will break loose – and this time, he may not survive it.

-

Noah is boiling when he starts awake hours later, clothes soaked through and skin feeling as if it might slide right off his tired bones. Instantly, Noah knows he will not survive this fever, knows that his body cannot continue losing water as fast as it has seemed to overnight, nor his brain survive the boiling of his insides. Whatever illness or infection has struck him will surely kill him in the next day or so – if Kevin or the others don’t find him first.

Noah tries not to laugh, feeling the hysterical urge bubble up in his throat – though the Gamemaker has thrown fires and monsoons and enormous serpents at Noah, who has survived them all – it will be a flu that eventually kills him.

Those are the last real thoughts Noah has for quite some time.

-

Luke watches in silent horror as Noah thrashes on fifty-foot projector screens, as audiences gasp and laugh and scream at the sight. The normally so composed young man is shouting nonsense and throwing himself at the ground, slamming his body against a non-existent enemy. His clothes are filthy and dark with sweat and blood and his eyes are wide and wild – he looks nothing like the calm, quiet boy who held Luke’s hand in the dark and murmured quiet fears against his temple, as if the softer he said them the less they’d be true. Not Noah. Not his Noah.

A flash of motion catches Luke’s eye and he whirls once the familiar silhouette registers in his mind. “Dusty!” he cries, shoving his way out of the crowded elite box, reserved for only the richest of the Capitol and the most important of officials. “Dusty, you’ve got to help him. Are you sending help?”

Dusty looks more tired than Luke has ever seen him and he doesn’t even need to open his mouth for Luke to know that Noah’s is a hopeless case. “All of his sponsors dropped him the second that ranking aired,” Dusty says, his voice like sawdust. “I’ve been arguing with them all night and none of them will fucking budge. They all think he’s a lost cause-“ Dusty cuts himself off, fury settling over his face. “With your father going after him like he is, no wonder they think so. Who could survive the attention of the Gamemaker?” His face is caught up in an ugly snarl and Luke struggles not to excuse himself to go be sick somewhere – because although he knows exactly what has been going on, no one has said it to him so bluntly.

It is his fault Noah is being dogged so rabidly in the Games. His fault that Noah lays twitching in some ditch in the middle of the jungle, easy prey for any animals to set upon, an easy kill for even the weakest of tributes.

And by the look on Dusty’s face, he’s certainly not going to argue the point.

“Then there’s nothing?” Luke asks, horrified and closer and closer to emptying the contents of his stomach right there and then on the pristine white floor of the VIP box. It would serve them right.

“Not unless you can miraculously convince a sponsor to pay for the privilege of keeping alive a tribute who will only continue to be set on fire and chased by rabid werejaguars and whatever the fuck else,” Dusty gets out hoarsely. He looks a thousand years old.

A sudden, horrific thought occurs to Luke. “Are you giving up on him?” he asks, his face like thunder, eyes flashing in fury and for a second, Dusty looks like he wants to punch Luke right in the mouth.

“When have you ever wanted for anything Grimaldi?” Dusty spits. “When have your tributes ever gone hungry? When was the last time you personally had to go bowing and scraping to the lowest scum in the universe just to beg them to let a kid to live just one more day? Only for them to tell you that _he’s too weak_ , that he’s _not worth it_.” Every breath looks like its been torn out of his chest painfully. He shakes his head bitterly and stares at the Capitol crest crossing the screens before them, too drained and angry to care that Luke’s looking at him with something approximating shame and pity.

“He’s worth it,” Luke says – and that’s all he says, like Dusty doesn’t know that, like Dusty doesn’t understand exactly how much Noah Mayer is worth: more than anyone else Dusty has ever met. Noah Mayer is one of the best men Dusty has ever known and he doesn’t need some upstart little Capitol rat telling what he already knows. “If you can’t beg anymore,” Luke says slowly into the harsh silence that’s fallen between them, “then I will.” He pivots sharply on his heel and exits the box, leaving Dusty to his self hatred and regrets – but hoping like mad that the Grimaldi rat will manage to do what he could not.

-

Luke feels as if he is pulling teeth with nothing more than his bare hands. Every sponsor he corners in the VIP watching room slimes his way out of a lengthy conversation with the Gamemaker’s son, each deftly fending him off until he’s left standing alone as the screams from the Games mix with the fake laughter of the Capitol’s wealthiest citizens.

It takes him hours to find two men who are at all sympathetic to Noah’s situation and who are willing to sit and listen to Luke’s sales pitch. Hours Noah doesn’t have. “You have to know that Noah is clearly the best tribute on the field,” Luke says with utter certainty. They look at him with dubious eyes, but Luke does not waver. “He’s sick now but he is the strongest of them all, the most even-keeled in temper - Kevin is going to burn out before the end, you know it. He’ll become too arrogant and fall to his own ignorance.” Luke breathes steadily, summoning every last iota of persuasive power he has in his bones, his tone oily and cajoling like his father’s has always been, like he has always hated - but it is working. He sees their faces shift and consider. “Noah on the other hand is completely steady.” Luke smiles a smarmy grin that he doesn’t feel in the slightest. “I’m going to talk to my father, he’s being a bit of a child about his feelings about Noah, I wouldn’t worry about that at all,” Luke says, lying fiercely, smile wide and warm and inviting.

At that assurance, Luke knows he has them. It is mere minutes until he is shaking their hands and rushing off to find Dusty, to save Noah. Together they watch as the sponsor’s gift of medicine sails down from the sky to Noah’s ill-concealed ditch. Luke watches with baited breath as a trembling Noah wraps unsteady hands around the metal box, peeling it apart with some difficulty. Noah watches his own hands incredulously as they pull the small bottle of medicine from the delivery contraption and swallows it down without hesitation.

Luke can hear the cheers and moans from down on the observing deck as Noah’s fans and detractors watch him breathe with more ease - but he couldn’t care less about them.

Because Dusty let him send a note with the bitter vial.

He cannot tear his eyes away from the screens - he watches as Noah pulls a scrap of paper out of the box and unfolds it, eyes running over the words greedily. This forty-foot tall version of the boy Luke loves closes his eyes and presses the paper to his lips before sliding it into his pack.

If Luke tries hard enough, he imagines he can feel the touch against his own lips.

He knows he will sleep no easier tonight than any other night - but at least he will sleep knowing Noah will live the night through.

-

  
_**Hunger Magazine** has the inside scoop on the scandal that rocked the VIP viewing lounge at Capitol Tower last night and early this morning. During a routine walkthrough of the sponsors and official guests, Gamemaker Grimaldi’s son Luciano Grimaldi was attacked by a violent and insensible Colonel Winston Mayer. Mayer punched the younger man repeatedly in the head, shouting slurs and insults about Grimaldi’s high profile “secret” relationship with Mayer’s son, District 2 tribute Noah Mayer. Noah has been on the run for nearly four days in the Games, fending off repeatedly dire circumstances so often that inside sources are suggesting that the Gamemaker himself is behind Noah’s difficulty in the Games._   


  
_Colonel Mayer intimated as much last night in his assault on Luciano before he was hauled away by Capitol guards. Luciano denied pressing charges, noting that any father with a son in a situation like Noah’s could not be held responsible for their actions. All seemed well until this morning, when maids for the Mayer apartment discovered Winston Mayer dead, allegedly by his own hand. The note he left seems to indicate no foul play and blames his own horror over seeing his beloved son struggle through the Games._   


  
_**Hunger Magazine** will keep you updated on any further developments._   


  


-

“He didn’t kill himself,” Dusty murmurs to Luke as they stand beside one another in yet another photo opportunity, mentors and officials mixing before the hundreds of newspaper and magazine photographers. “There’s no fucking way.”

Luke struggles to keep a bland smile on his face, the bruises from last night aching something fierce. “What do you mean?” he hisses between his teeth, tossing his hair out of his face to hide his darting glance at Dusty.

“ _No weaknesses_ was the man’s fucking motto,” Dusty mutters behind a false cough. “And the man was physically incapable of loving Noah, there’s no way he would have called him his _beloved_ son.” Dusty’s attention on Luke grabs one photographer’s attention and the two have to pretend to shift around to let another official between them before the spotlight is drawn away from them again.

“Then who?” Luke asks quietly.

“Who do you think?” Dusty says softly, giving Luke a Look that clearly says he thinks Luke’s being inordinately obtuse. “Your father, his henchmen, whatever.”

“He’s not gonna stop,” Luke murmurs, stunned. “He’s never going to stop.”

“Not until Noah’s dead,” Dusty agrees. “And with six tributes remaining, there’s not much time left.”

Luke’s heart thuds loudly in his ears as his options stream past his eyes – stupid backdoor dealing with men with no ethics, bribing sponsors to support Noah above everyone else, reasoning with his father likely ending in more deaths – nothing effective. Nothing useful. Luke is furious with his own pointlessness and it is that fury that forces him to realize the truth: Noah is going to die and it is going to be Luke’s fault. Luke will never see Noah again unless the Games end. Immediately.

“We have to do something,” Luke says, breaking out of the pack of meet and greet officials. “We have to do something now.” He doesn’t even check to see if Dusty is following him – he knows he is, knows that he has found the best ally possible in Noah’s mentor. The two sprint down the closest corridor, Luke flashing his badge to fly by several guards before heading down several levels and across the tower. They stop outside of a lift and Luke types in a rapidfire code that draws the elevator down towards them. As they wait, Luke speaks, “We need to get to him and the others before Damian sends something even worse after him.”

“How?” Dusty retorts breathlessly, leaning over to slap his hands on his knees, chest heaving. “We have no idea where the fuck the Games are held, it’s like the best kept secret of the whole damn operation.”

“Well isn’t it lucky that one of us is the Gamemaker’s son,” Luke snaps back, shoving Dusty into the elevator and tapping out another quick code to send them shooting down towards the basement level. The levels fly by around them, flashes of light and people turning to level after level of dark, dimly lit basement floors. Luke studiously doesn’t think about how deep underground they are, nor how absolutely insane this plan is turning out to be.

“You know the location of the arena?” Dusty stares, open mouthed.

“Roughly,” Luke admits. “Enough to get us there, not enough to know how to find the tributes once we show up.”

“And we’re getting there how?” Dusty asks, as the doors to the lift slide open silently, revealing a dark warehouse as long as a football field.

“Well,” Luke says, stepping forward and triggering a series of lights stuttering on, illuminating several sleek hovercrafts, parked and waiting. “I really hope that somewhere at that Career school of yours they taught you how to fly one of these things, because I certainly don’t know.”

-

The flight is less harrowing than Luke anticipates, but the lack of obstacles preventing them from flying straight out of the Capitol and joining traffic beyond the walls of the city means that there is much more time to consider exactly what he and Dusty have done.

“We’ll never be able to go back, you realize,” Dusty says, entirely unhelpfully, like Luke hadn't been incredibly conscious of precisely that. His father will never allow him back inside the Capitol, and will probably put a bounty on his head for this if they do end up escaping with Noah and the other tributes.

“I hadn’t, thanks,” Luke snaps back sarcastically, but mutters an apology a moment later after an awkward silence falls. “I know. But…” Luke looks across the craft at Dusty, his expression helpless. “Noah’s worth it.”

Dusty cracks a smile at that. “That he is, kid. That he is.”

Luke points at a holographic map overlaid on the window in front of them. “We want to head to the wide ridge there, it’s about an hour away if we book it.”

“Booking it is one of my specialties,” Dusty comments, laying in on the thrusters and forcing the hovercraft to jump a bit as it is pressed into another gear. As the Capitol city fades away behind them, their surroundings become incredibly more bleak – patches of forests and dry, arid land fly by below them with almost no sign of human life whatsoever. The land between District One and Two is completely empty and more than a little horrifying to look at.

“The arena’s gonna have sensors that will see us the closer we get to the right patch of forest. The Gamemaker’s going to be able to send storms and things after us if we’re not fast enough,” Luke reminds Dusty.

“Got any plans on how to be fast enough?” Dusty asks, shifting the hovercraft into an even higher gear, letting the land below them fade into a blur as they skim over it.

“Go fast?” Luke replies with a shrug. Dusty sends him a look that Luke ignores, focusing instead on the holographic plans on the craft’s display. There are several white dots marking the area that Luke knows to be the patch of rainforest the Game architects have designated as the arena – but Luke has no idea what they are. He presses on one, hoping for at least a latitude and longitude – and instead gets a web server address. “What the hell?” Luke murmurs, before pulling up the screen on his seat and typing it in. He has to bypass a few firewalls – but soon enough he’s accessing whatever information the server is holding.

Video recording. _Live_ video recording.

Luke flicks through the links and realizes that this is one of the towers collecting all of the live footage for the Games to be edited together. “Yes, oh god, yes, this is perfect,” Luke mutters. The footage flicks through – most of it completely unhelpful but then he spots a moving figure. He watches for long enough to establish that the figure is Ameera, working her way steadily through the forest, using her bow as a crutch thanks to an infected wound on one of her legs. Luke marks her current location on his map and continues flipping through.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dusty asks after another minute of watching Luke skim through footage.

“I’m watching live footage from the Games and using it to correlate everyone’s location so we know exactly where we need to head to grab them all,” Luke says absent-mindedly, marking down Kevin and Casey’s locations with a quick tap.

“…Oh,” Dusty replies, blinking slowly before settling back into his seat. “That’s… good.” He fiddles with the craft’s navigation for a moment before looking back at Luke. “Any sign of Noah?”

“Not yet,” Luke murmurs, shifting to another server tower. “He seems to be- oh fuck,” Luke’s swear sends Dusty lunging to see the screen even as the craft lurches to the side with the shift of its driver. “Fuck Dusty, watch the goddamn road!” Luke snaps even as Dusty swears and rights the hovercraft. “I’ll bring it to you.”

Luke crosses the bay to hold his screen up for Dusty’s perusal – it’s clear by the footage that there’s a monsoon happening right over Noah’s location – the banks have flooded again and this time, Noah is the one safe while Maddie and Faith cling to a large stick he’s offered them, struggling to keep them both afloat as the currents rip past them. The ground is more mud than dirt at this point though and he keeps slipping further towards the water, unable to find more stable ground on which to stand. “Fuck,” Dusty murmurs and presses the hovercraft into a faster speed – enough that Luke can now feel the push against the craft despite the dampeners meant to eliminate the feeling.

They’re still more than fifteen minutes out and Luke’s stomach twists sharply. “We’ll never make it in time,” he says, hollow and low. “We’re too far away.”

“Never say never Grimaldi,” Dusty says grimly, and taps forcefully at several controls. “Just… hold on to something, okay?” And the second Luke slaps a hand around the arm of his chair, the hovercraft lurches again, but this time so violently forward that Luke tumbles back, falling against the steel door that leads into the back storage bay of the craft.

“What the fuck?” Luke shouts over the grinding, terrible noise that the hovercraft is making now, even as it rockets towards their appointed destination. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I may have eliminated several safety controls that keep the craft from overheating!” Dusty calls back, controls vibrating beneath his hands as he struggles to keep them steady. “Now shut up, I’m trying not to crash!”

Luke dutifully remains silent, even as he watches in horror as they careen past the first sensor tower, no doubt alerting Damian and the others to their existence. “We’re about a minute out, angle us southwest!” Luke cries over the horrible noise of the engine probably about to explode.

“Aye aye cap’n!” Dusty yells back sarcastically, leaning his full weight on the controls to get them to turn even as he dialed back on the speed. “There! Right below us!” And it’s true, Luke can see them through the windows of the plane. “Send down the hooks!”

Luke slams his hand against the keypad for the back bay of the craft until the door slides open. He scrambles across the floor of the bay until his fingers find the hatch and flip it open. He can see down into the river as the wind from the storm and the craft buffet the three figures below. “Noah!” he screams, his voice piercing through the wind. “Noah, take these!” Luke snatches up and dumps three nylon ropes through the hatch, each knotted firmly to a titanium pulley within the craft. Noah’s face when he chances a glance up and sees Luke is one Luke will treasure for the rest of his life – which may not be that long considering his precise situation.

Noah doesn’t hesitate to act though, and grabs the three loops with his free hand and links one to his own jacket before tossing the other two out to the girls. It takes several tries and a few tugs from Luke on Noah’s line to keep him from tumbling into the rapids, but the girls manage to hook themselves to a line securely enough that Luke feels comfortable shouting through the door to Dusty, “Pull ‘em up!”

The hover craft lifts a little further away and drags all three tributes away from the banks, setting them down on more solid ground. “The other three are close!” Luke calls down to Noah and the others. “I’m throwing you down more lines, so hook them in when they get here!” And it’s true, according to the footage, Ameera is no more than a minute or two away in one direction, while Casey and Kevin are sprinting quickly towards the disturbance from the other.

But a minute is more than enough time for Damian to make life difficult, Luke knows. The monsoon fades away a moment later as if nothing had happened – only to return with a vengeance, rain pelting the sides of the craft hard enough to send it shuddering and lurching. “Fuck!” Dusty shouts from the cockpit. “Luke, you alright back there?”

“I’m okay!” Luke calls back, even as the winds slap the tiny craft around as if it were nothing more than a child’s play toy. “We can’t take this much longer though!” Lightning snaps the sky and just barely misses a wing of the craft, the winds lurching the plane far enough over to keep them out of harm’s way for a split second. “Shit,” Luke snaps. “Noah!” he calls down. “Noah, we need to get you inside!”

“Wait!” Noah shouts back up. “I see Ameera and Casey!” Noah unhooks himself from the line, ignoring Luke’s swears and pelts towards an opening in the foliage, slinging an arm around Ameera’s waist and half carrying her back towards the opening in the hover craft. Faith affixes the line to Ameera’s pack while Noah sprints off to hustle Casey forward. “We’re getting a VIP ride back!” Noah shouts as they duck and run for the craft.

“They must’ve known I was coming!” Casey calls back over the wind and the two share a smirk before Maddie slings the line around Casey’s waist and tugs. “Kevin’s the only one left!”

And a split second later, Kevin bursts through the trees, coming upon the bizarre tableau with wary eyes and an eager grin. He holds his machete higher and starts towards the wounded Ameera meaningfully, but Noah steps in his way.

“Kevin!” Noah shouts over the wind of the storm and the hovercraft’s fans as leaves and dirt fly up all around them, forcing them low and wary. “Kevin, we’re being rescued, you don’t have to fight us any more! We’re all getting out of here!”

“There is no getting out Mayer!” Kevin screams, machete still clutched in his bleeding hands. “This is it, this is all we have! This is all we are!” His eyes are wild with the fear and fury that Noah knows all too well. "I need to win!"

“Not anymore Kevin!” calls back Faith, her small voice somehow carrying across the wind with ease. “It can be over! You don’t have to do this anymore!” She takes a few steps forward, eyes wide, hands plaintive.

“It can never be over,” he replies dully, eyes dead, and rushes Faith with his knife. Maddie, and Faith scream and Casey lunges uselessly, too far from them both to do any good. A split second later, there is an unearthly scream as Kevin sprawls to the ground, crossbow bolt in his throat, a spray of arterial blood soaking into Faith’s clothes and hair. They all freeze and turn to look at Noah, thin face visible above the dark frame of the crossbow against his shoulder, mouth twisted up in rage and sorrow.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, “We’re done here.” Casey wraps Faith up in an arm and guides her back towards the group, Noah looping his own arm around her shoulders once she gets into reach. “You okay?” he asks, squeezing gently.

“You don’t owe me one anymore,” Faith murmurs into Noah’s arm shakily as he guides her towards the craft. “I think we’re even.”

“Get in the fucking plane!” comes the cry from above as another shot of lightning rockets down right beside them and the hovercraft wavers in the air.

“Sounds like you’re in trouble with the ole ball and chain,” Casey mutters even as Ameera and Faith are hauled up through the hatch first.

“Yeah,” Noah breathes, chest heaving, slow grin appearing on his face. “Isn’t he the best?”

-

Their escape is just as turbulent as their rescue, as the Game architects begin to set the wildlife on them as soon as they realize their storm cannot bring down the craft. Werejaguars and twenty foot snakes launch themselves at the hovercraft as Dusty steers them away, back through the forest and over the trees. Noah has to put a few more bolts in some jaguars and Ameera sets up shop by the still open hatch door and picks off the stragglers and hangers-on with her bow. Casey gets in on the fight by chopping off the head of an anaconda that makes its way into the bay, but minutes later they are free of the jungle and jetting towards god knows where.

“Dreaming, right?” Maddie murmurs from her seat beside Faith. “This isn’t real, right? It’s some fever dream, those fucking snakes bit me and now I’m delirious and none of this is reality.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Luke says from his place on the floor next to Noah, shoulders tucked close. “But I totally saved your asses.” Noah huffs an exhausted laugh and buries his face in Luke’s shoulder.

“And not to be ungrateful,” Casey adds a moment later, “But… why?”

Luke doesn’t say anything for a long moment, he just stares down at the dark head of hair pressed against his arm, watches Noah just breathe beside him, warm and dirty and smelly and _alive_. “I couldn’t watch anymore,” he answers truthfully, finally. “I needed him to come out of this alive.”

The others fall quiet and Luke takes the moment to bury a hand in Noah’s hair and massage his scalp gently, tugging him closer. “Real?” Noah murmurs against his neck.

“Really real,” Luke whispers back a moment later, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

A second later, Dusty sticks his head into the back bay, waving away Luke’s concerns about driving with a bored gesture. “Auto-pilot,” he says first, before focusing his gaze on Noah and grinning, utterly relieved. “Good to see you kid,” he says, prompting another smile from Noah.

“Good to be seen,” Noah admits. “Didn’t know you could fly one of these things.”

“Me neither,” Dusty admits, before heading back into the cockpit, checking on something that Luke's sure that Dusty has no idea what its purpose is. “Hey Luke? Your screen’s beeping!” He calls back a moment later, and Luke untangles himself from Noah reluctantly to stand and fetch his tablet screen, which is indeed beeping violently. He’s still linked to the camera footage server and he realizes that it’s been backtraced to his tablet – the beeping is a camera link, direct to his screen.

Damian’s calling.

“Fuck,” he says distantly, considering dropping the tablet out the hatch, but a unfamiliar hand on his arm stops him. He glances up and Faith’s looking at him, resolute.

“Let me see it?” she asks, and Luke hands it over silently. Her nimble fingers skim across the keyboard and soon she’s redirecting and reconnecting and god knows what the hell else is going on, but when she hands it back, Damian’s call is gone and instead, the server window is open again, wide and blank and blinking. “It’s on all-call,” she says quietly. “Hit the button and you’re broadcasting to all of the Capitol. To all of Panem.” Luke gapes and Faith smiles slightly.

“You owe me one,” she says, "Again," and starts back into the bay, Luke following her. The others are staring at them, clearly having heard the conversation, and Luke settles in, palms sweaty on the sides of the tablet. He’s never done anything like this before – he doesn’t even know what he’d say. He’s not the right person for this, he doesn’t have the first hand experience, the knowledge – Luke turns and stares at Noah.

“Maybe you should do it.” Noah stares back like Luke has lost his mind.

“Luke, I can barely talk to you without fucking up,” Noah says, firm and terrified. “There’s no way-"

“I think it should be Noah too,” Casey interrupts, Maddie nodding beside him.

“I trust you to speak for us,” Ameera adds softly, and Noah gapes at her. “You know what we want to say.” Ameera glances at Faith and the others and smiles sadly. “You know why we’d all rather never be able to go home than spend another second in that hellhole. I trust you to tell them the story.”

Silence falls and Noah quietly takes the tablet from Luke’s nervous fingers.

He hits the button.

“I don’t know how much of what happened you saw,” he says. “I don’t know if the government showed you or not, but five of us escaped from the Games. Five of us,” he says, his voice getting stronger, “left the Games. We did as they asked and killed each other and hurt each other and died for one another. We killed children for you,” Noah says, his eyes blazing. “We did it because you wanted us to.”

“These are your children,” Noah says plaintively. “They are your friends’ children and your nieces and nephews. They are your children’s best friends and first crushes and how _dare_ you let this happen? How dare you let them die, how dare you watch as they kill one another?” Even soaking wet and mud streaked, Noah is somehow more captivating than any speaker Luke has ever seen. He is entranced and he doesn’t even try to hide it, gaze focused only on Noah. He slides his hand into one of Noah’s still wrapped around the tablet and lets their fingers tangle.

Noah heaves a deep breath and Luke squeezes his hand tightly, pretending he doesn’t feel the trembling in the other boy’s fingers. “Make note,” he says, his voice strong despite the shaking of his hands, “There is no winner of this Hunger Games. That will go down in your history books and no one will forget the Games that had no winner. The Games where no one wore the crown.” Noah stares directly into the tablet and Luke feels as if his heart stops beating. “We don’t belong to you anymore. And someday soon, none of us will. And when that day comes, the Capitol will find itself distinctly without any tributes to offer up. There will be no one left to sacrifice but themselves.”

“Hey kid,” Dusty calls from the cockpit and all of them turn to look at him. “Don’t forget to smile.”

And so Noah turns back to the camera and smiles broadly at the screen – it is not a kind expression certainly, but it is a triumphant one. It is the smile of a free man, of someone with more options than he had before – and Luke knows that this is real, that Noah is real – and so is their future.

-

_epilogue_

-

Some days are harder than others.

They’ve been fugitives of the Capitol for nearly two years now and Luke sometimes feels as if he’s forgotten what it’s like to breathe deeply without feeling a crushing weight on his chest.

But, if he is utterly honest, he would not want to be anywhere else in the entirety of Panem. He and Noah have roamed the wide expanse of Districts with the others in tow, making new friends and even more new enemies. Noah was astonished to realize as they began their grassroots journey across the country that so many within the districts were willing to hide and harbor them. So many normal, seemingly law abiding citizens had seen Noah’s speech, had watched the Games, and found themselves ready to take up arms.

It was humbling, to say the least.

And for a while, Noah wanted no part of a rebellion. He had just left the killing field and he had no desire to return to something he hated so much - but the Capitol marched on, as did the Games - and as the next year’s batch of Reapings began, Noah realized that there was little else to do but get involved.

And so here they are, two years later and breathing heavily - because some days are hard. Some days are just so agonizingly terrifying or heart breaking or traumatizing that Luke just wants to give in - except for Noah. Noah makes every last second worth while.

Today is not one of those days.

Luke returns to camp that night with brilliant news. He has heard reports of the group that had pressed out from camp to visit District 12 and try and get a sense of numbers and loyalty - Faith, Casey, Dusty and Reid (Reid! Reid who had joined them only months after they'd escaped, Reid who had grown tired of Capitol rule years ago, Reid who Luke still wants to punch in the face occasionally when he gets particularly annoying) will all return to camp in less than a day. He means to go directly to Noah and deliver his news, but he is waylaid the moment he steps across the threshold of the tiny tent village that had sprung up several weeks ago. It is already beginning to feel like home, but Luke knows better than to get attached to a location like this.

"Luke!" Ameera says, grabbing at his arm and swinging him towards the opposite edge of camp from Noah and his tent. "You need to come here and see this." Luke has very little time to do anything but make a confused noise at her before he is bundled into the tent that Ameera and Faith share. And there, at their tiny desk, sits Noah, all scrunched up in a chair not meant to cater to his obnoxiously tall legs. Before him sits Faith's tablet projecting something too small for Luke to see.

"Luke!" Noah notices him a moment after he enters and scrapes the chair as he slides out of it, crossing the tent immediately to gather him up in his arms. "You're back! I have news!"

"Same here," Luke replies, smile coming more easily now with Noah's lanky limbs wrapped around him. "But you go first."

"It's District 11," Noah says, his voice hushed and awestruck, "They've promised to take up arms with us the moment the rebellion begins. They voted secretly and the whole District supports us. Luke, we have resources," Noah's eyes are wide and bright and for a second, Luke feels like laughing - but the news has taken his breath away.

"Real?" Luke whispers, staring up in awe at Noah, at his Noah - too honorable and earnest and steadfast to do anything but tell the truth.

"Really real," Noah confirms happily a moment later, drawing Luke close. "So, so real."

With this news, they are no longer relying on the kindness of strangers and the possibility of being turned over at any minute by anyone. With District 11 behind them - and hopefully 12 very soon - Luke feels himself begin to breathe a little easier. There are people who support them, who understand what they do is complicated and treasonous and yet still will come to their tiny rebellion's aid the moment they ask for it.

"This changes everything," Luke murmurs, beaming up at Noah. "You've changed everything."

Noah's face flickers between uncertainty and pride, the two warring briefly before he manages a pleased smile. "Not as much as you," he admits a moment later. "You changed me first."

And honestly, Luke thinks a moment later when Ameera is shooing them viciously out of her tent with the dull end of a machete, he doesn't understand how he wasn't supposed to kiss Noah right then and there. Not when he says things like that.

"More good news," Luke pants out when they finally break away from one another. "The scouting trip will be back tomorrow." Noah smiles briefly but considers this information carefully.

"So we have a night worthy of celebration, where Casey is guaranteed not to show up and interrupt, correct?" Noah asks slowly a moment later. Luke laughs, the expression rusty in his mouth and he sees Noah light up at the sound. A wave of affection rushes over Luke and he tugs Noah back towards him, drawing him down into a kiss that by now is all too familiar.

"I think you've summed up the situation pretty accurately Mayer," Luke murmurs, leaning into the gentle caress of Noah's hands on his face, his smile wide.

"Oh god, the two of you make me want to vomit," comes Ameera's voice from behind them. "Go find your own damn tent and leave the front of mine unmolested!" Luke laughs again and tugs Noah back through camp, back to their own tent. He follows Luke easily, smiling softly. They do not always have reason to smile here. They have spent too many days terrified and on the run and given the choice, Noah would not have asked this of any of them. Especially not Luke.

But then there are days like this - days where the hardest thing Noah has to do is prepare himself to deliver good news to the whole camp, where Luke is full of soft laughter and wicked grins, where the Capitol's watchful eye for once looms far, far away in the distance.

"Thank you," Noah murmurs into Luke's mouth when they finally tumble into their own tent. "Thank you for everything, thank you for being here with me, thank you for staying."

"Noah," Luke says fondly, brushing a dark curl out of Noah's eyes, looking up at him with so much warmth and affection that Noah feels his chest tighten. "Shut up." And that startles a laugh out of Noah, and he is still laughing when Luke takes his lips again, pressing closer than Noah thought was physically possible.

Some days are hard. Some days take back breaking work and tears; some days end with lives lost, with people Noah loves dying in his arms. Some days seem like the darkest in all history.

Today is not that day, Noah thinks, as he tumbles Luke into their tiny bed, smothering his laughter in their blankets.

And someday, the days like today will out number the hard ones. Someday, there will be days when no one has to remind Noah to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This story has been the most painful of any fic I’ve attempted to write – and for no more reason than the fact that I lost 5000 words when my hard drive erased itself about a month ago and after that, writing any of it felt like a kick to the chest. But I knew I had to truck through and rewrite it all and so, here it is.
> 
> I just want to put in a quick note of thanks to every single person I made read this and who told me it was good, but not quite good enough – you were absolutely, positively correct and I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart because jesus christ, this was hard – so thank you for making it like a billion times less painful.
> 
> If there was a single part of this story you enjoyed, it was because of every amazing person who willingly let themselves be interrogated and whined to and cried upon. Without my team of very excellent readers and buttkickers, this story would have contained little more than awkward shifts in tense and Noah acting like a twelve year old girl.
> 
> Also, I want to give a big shout out to Kitty, my artist, who basically had to deal with me being the most recalcitrant author in the entire world. What with my complete inability to communicate like an actual human, I’m absolutely floored with the incredible art she produced for this fic. Everyone should go head over to her art post on LJ and give her props (not only for being insanely talented, but also for putting up with me successfully!) Girl, you da best.


End file.
